





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































•• o 0 * 0 ♦ -*b 


* - 


«£* v V ^ 


o • 



A ^ ^ \f ‘ 

* • S aV 

a& • »• * • * ^ 

% O AT 

«* • 'fc- *> JkwW^J* Vi 

O > » 



V **' r * 0 ^° % 

C\ AV . iW* «* 



'■ W 


$9 ^ ^ ^ n 

r* ^ ♦>« 

'V* * o Vo 9 A?' 

\t . * • 

«V % V A, <- V <* 

Sy t % a /■. » 




•* <o u Vv 

* <v ^ 

4 <y * 



• « *» v» v 

. V 0 N o - ** ,‘iV t / 9 r O ** ° it ' Q 

C° •‘U^% O J* SmfftoZ: 0 *V35Shrf* ° 

o. < 0 r *«Vo* '" ° •** -* 0 ° 




^ *T' 

’ ,o v <k * 


V? *i 



* A ^ 

.tl. - ^ 

-, o A / 

" ** 0 ^ ,‘j 

p f* *.E||gw o5°x> x° v. t 

* v o *■ ^yy/PJrV *> *' 

* 0 # .. ^*SVo 4 ^ 

*• ^ <* v /Iw* /'♦*«&. ,^ v ♦•'* 


A* ♦* 

■b ; 



«U* 



'jvV 



«u*’ 






* /1 



\ A 

** s 




V °o ^ v v 

tf «\ 

*b »' 


: j. 0 ^ • 

i) & * 




. _ nvxv , 0 ^ 

f r\ »r> A •••^v * \ > 

* Ci' & * 'n>£ 5 A* O - 3 - 

A v « * 0 ' r -^ * * i 1 * Ap 

;> .0 ** • • * V A ,m 0j ^i-v $ 

^ ^ ^ aV ♦W A , o ** # ^ 

~ **<? 

* c5'*'o •* o A** * 

* A vl\ * fi';vLiiilr^ .f A »<* o 

' ’ < >0 C 0 W ° ♦ O A . L * * /\V o * 

G » Vc^v^ j'O' J'^nlvA -r /.U & 






* 9 

Cr 


* ’’bV* 


*O N o 0 i<$’ 




% "P. c 

* 
p 

o «.*^ v<^M£/v y c u> 

'f' ^o * 1 ,AA + ** cP & <oA o + 

*• «.* *'&%&/£* V / «VGfaf. *u A /aWa> ^ 

A /\ 'Ifif* AA A % '-Ilif/ **■ 

O rf ..* 5 A '<>•»■* ,G O A 

A v . * * ^ - ». „ *£» A V 



'« * * 

lit 

<J d" *->>»***:<*• "C. G~ •”-r^Nv :♦ “O ,iT> 4 



* A 

■y v6 >0" o 0 " 

_ . . -Ji_. _ A ^ *jJP//7/^' r Vjr 0 • 

V <SN\\\ll^bv ^ A 1 K ^*t* 2 *r& " 

. O > d <£3m4Zr /A * ^ V 


A ^ • 

r o ^ 
^o * 



,«- 1 ^ . ^m* *'-■ ^ - 

• «^ <y' A* ^° .. '%>**•»'** \v -^. 

V * v * °> <\ av s® V'* ^ v *« • o^ 

•' *mMh,<> krv# ^ ^ «■ 

* 


A ^ : 

<y rU * 

r o ^. * 

, o * o # ^O 





A > ^ A . . 

s s A <* 'o»** 

^ * % Mi0%L*- % 



G VV 

A> V . 

4 AT % - 

G U *rC^V^_ V> 
<1 
O 



oV 

- A r>0 ^ # >^S^A -> o_ 

^ * i “» * A? * o w o 0 <y °+p * <m “» ' 

► A V , S * * r A> \/" a "* * Ojr <?* A 

i<> i iv* <» ^ ' i^. -o ► f. X7 ^ 

V> .•«*&! ^...# 4¥A», * 



w.. - ,A ♦* 

» «»..■» *■ 

• O > o 

^ y* - 

+ o •n^S 

^ aO'' ^ ^ 




A ♦ 



-vP 


^9* 








COLBY STORIES 






































































































































i t 

( .':V y <s' $ 

■» ' ‘ Ej 
























William Smith Knowlton, ’64. 

Oliver Leigh Hall, ’93. Reuben Wesley Dunn, ’68. 


Holman Francis Day, ’87. 


Jacob Bartlett Shaw, ’60. 


Rev. Abram Wyman, ’89. 


Herbert Carlyle Libby, ’02. 

Angier Louis Goodwin,’02. Prof. Adelbert F. Caldwell,’91. 


Henry Wesley Dunn, ’96. William Oliver Stevens, ’99. 

Harry Lyman Koopman, ’80. 


Joseph Howard Files, ’77. 


Hon. Asher Hinds, ’83. 


Dr. William Mathews, ’35. 


. \noJiwoiiv 
,fi Tt-(J 7 > // idtJj.. ; 


:i rnjui: W 

.£C>' ,(IbH ti- it- lavilO 




.~' 6 ' f >fi.Cl aionist'H nsmloH 


.vo' ! t vdfiL * .- vi iii .i . J 

,:{>/vldsD v i Jn.idbbA .io'i’-l .so' t ,;r;vi -jorgnA 


•PC’ »8n ■ • i •,:<) meilf; // 


r.a',V ipusij 


' 


•C 8 ’ • abuiH <^ { * A aoH .aaliH Ln> woH rfqa* { 

■ c? : ,/ •; • W .iG 



COLBY STORIES 


AS TOLD BY COLBY MEN OF THE 
CLASSES 

1S32 TO 1902 


EDITED BY 

HERBERT CARLYLE LIBBY 


ILL US 7 RA TED 


CONCORD, N. H.: 

Ube IRumforb press 

1900 


89498 


Libmry of Congress 

Vo Copies Received 

DEC 171900 

atmuy 

QeJr. 2 -7, /fa® 

Ko P~.^9. . 7 . 
SECOND COPY 

Delivered to 

OROER DIVISION 

DEC 20 l9uo I 


yi > ' O 

C_9 


V 

\ 


Copyright, 1900, 

By Herbert Carlyle Libby 








TO A. H. M. 


Dear A. H. M. :—You suggested in one of your former 
letters to me that I mail you one of “the very first vol¬ 
umes of ihose old Colby yarns.” It gives me the great¬ 
est pleasure, as a slight regard for our friendship, to 
carry out the suggestion which you make. Should the 
mission of the book prove wholly praiseworthy, and the 
words between its covers tend to arouse a too dormant 
college-spirit, I shall feel liberally rewarded for all the 
work that the volume has cost me. 

Sincerely yours. 


H. C. L. 




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


To the following men of Colby College who have con¬ 
tributed to these pages, the editor wishes to thus pub¬ 
licly proclaim his thanks for their kindly co-operation 
and good wishes: 

Dr. William Mathews, ’35 ; Prof. A. F. Caldwell, ’90, 
Hon. Asher Hinds, ’83 ; Holman F. Day, ’87 ; R. Wes¬ 
ley Dunn, ’68; Prin. W. S. Knowlton, ’64: Hon. 
A. W. Paine, ’32; Oliver L. Hall, ’93; Henry W. 
Dunn, ’96; Joseph H. Files, ’77; Jacob B. Shaw, ’6o; 
William O. Stevens, ’99; Harry L. Koopman, ’8o; 
Rev. Abram Wyman, ’89; Angier Louis Goodwin, ’02 ; 
Rev. H. R. Mitchell, ’72; J. F. Norris, ’63. 

Grateful acknowledgments are also due President 
Nathaniel Butler, for encouragement in the work; Dr. 
George D. B. Pepper, for valuable advice; all Colby 
men and women who have taken occasion from time to 
time to wish the book prosperity. 













» 






























* . 








* 
































































CONTENTS 


Page 

A Heavy Artillery Sortie.i 

In the Days of Hazing ....... 19 

How Wally Went to the Fire.36 

An Imputed Sin.47 

Number ’Steen, North College ..... 55 

Tom and Smith.62 

The Freshman Deluge ....... 72 

“ Abe ” of Seventy-Blank.83 

A Cure for Nervousness.105 

The Leg that Failed.117 

Class-Spirit.130 

Unvarnished Tales 

The Enterprise of Freshman D.159 

Tales of the Early Days.164 

Daniel Pratt, G. A. T. . . . . . 168 

How the Turkey Gobbler “ Said Prayers ” . . . 172 

A Coincidence.. . . 174 

In Memoriam.176 

Nil de Mortuis Nisi Bonum.178 

Encouraged.182 

A Curt Rejoinder.184 

Higher Authority ........ 185 

An Effective “ Water Treatment ” .... 187 

A Martyr to Science.190 

Incidents and Accidents of a Former Generation . . 193 

Rare “ Ben ” Butler 

Ben Butler in College ....... 205 

Ben Butler and the Sign . . . . .211 

The Broken Engagement.225 































































I 















































ILLUSTRATIONS 


Facing page 

Group of contributors. Frontispiece. 

“ Yo’ mabbe Col-ladge fellaire, heh?” . . . . ir 

“ A product not uncommon to a college town was The 

Girl.”.19 

. . The unfortunate Freshman . . . plunged 

headforemost into the bank on the other side.” . 27 

“ With this announcement . . . the door was thrown 

wide open.” . . . . . . . 31 

“■ His bare legs stretched out to the fire, . . . the 

cigar in his mouth, his face the picture of peace 

after pain.”.45 

“. . . Forthwith I was made the smiling but unwill¬ 
ing victim of her first Welsh rarebit.” 57 

“. . . . Dodge . . . broad-jumped the seat 

directly in front of us.”.87 

“ Never had he put into it the fire and the life that thrilled 

it now.”.112 

“ Dillingham . . . raised his hat politely to the co-ed 

with Brown.”.141 

College Boys of the Fifties. ...... 161 

“ Sam ” addressing Graduating Class at “ Last Chapel.” 192 







COLBY STORIES 























































































A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 


I think there were eight Democrats in college 
that year. No matter what year. This is n’t 
an eulogium of a class. It isn’t a page from 
history. It is a typical Colby story and it’s 
true—well, as to that I can refer you to a chap 
who will some day be Governor of Maine if he 
happens to want the job. 

Of those eight Democrats, one was a Democrat 
because he had read the papers and studied the 
issues. The rest of us had been too busy 
“ plugging ” to post ourselves. We were Demo¬ 
crats because our fathers were. That’s an easy 
and justifiable method of selecting your political 
stripe when you’re on the downy side of 
minority. 

But the eight Democrats were not lonesome. 

Political morals are always easy in college. 
The boys organized a campaign club—a club 
to help swell up processions. The eight Demo¬ 
crats always turned to and helped fill up the 


4 


COLBY STORIES 


ranks when there were Republican “ grand par¬ 
ades,” and the Republicans—which was a remark¬ 
able evidence of good feeling, for there were an 
hundred and ten—would graciously go along 
with the eight Democrats and march in a Dem¬ 
ocratic parade. You see there are times when 
college friendships are ahead of political affini¬ 
ties. 

It is true that some of these Republican 
volunteers didn’t act wholly the part of good 
Democrats at these “grand rallies.” At one of 
them in order to ease his conscience a young 
Republican with a hooked wire dragged the bag 
of coffee out of the great kettle in which a de¬ 
coction for the marching host was boiling. And 
the water was desperately boiled half an hour 
before the absence of the coffee was noted. 

Then also those “incidental Republicans” 
used to exert themselves to steal all the Demo¬ 
cratic plates and spoons they could get hold of. 
At last it got to that pass that eminent politicians 
would rather see a flock of turkey buzzards in a 
parade than those patriots wearing the old gold 
capes of Colby. 

But though the one hundred and ten Repub¬ 
licans could tolerate the marching music of a 


A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 5 

* 

Democratic band, could tolerate a Democratic 
barbecue and eat more ravenously than the 
hungriest Democrat there, it developed that there 
were things that they could not tolerate. 

And this brings me more nearly to the story. 
There was a peculiar political Situation that fall. 
Both sides for several days were confident of 
victory. I mean to say, that after the day of 
election the actual results of the ballots were in 
question. Both sides claimed the presidency. 
Both sides took occasion to celebrate. When 
the Waterville Democrats got ready to burn 
some powder one of the most enthusiastic of the 
local Unterrified proffered the use of his lawn 
and also gave the Democrats permission to spread 
out over the railroad lawn that stretched its 
green expanse along parallel with the campus. 
It had been at first arranged that the Democratic 
celebration should be postponed until the final 
result of the ballots should be announced. But 
the crowd became too impatient. Especially 
were the mercurial Democrats of “The Plains” 
wrought up. They feared that they would be 
cheated out of their celebration altogether. The 
Republicans were claiming so earnestly that the 
last count would settle Democratic hash for four 


6 


COLBY STORIES 


years that this cocksureness impressed the excit¬ 
able gentlemen from the south end of the city. 

Therefore, shortly after supper one evening 
there were signs of activity on railroad lawn. 
First came several scores of humble patriots 
glad of the evening hour after work in the mills. 
Each puffed his pipe and sat patiently on the 
sward waiting for some event. It was evident 
that the word had gone round. 

And even as the hoi polloi gathered silently 
on the railroad lawn, so did the college world 
range itself along the fence and survey with in¬ 
creasing interest the preparations that were 
making across the street. 

Then trundling through the dust of Front 
Street came an object surrounded by a little 
swarm of boys and men. It was dragged along 
with a sort of reverence as though it were a car 
of Juggernaut in miniature. Itw'as a brass can¬ 
non, its breech stained with powder from many 
a patriotic bout. Traditions surrounded that 
cannon. It had been stolen from somewhere or 
other and that fact always gives a cannon a value. 

Soon after the cannon had been located on 
railroad lawn men with band instruments ap¬ 
peared—a sort of picked-up organization that 


A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 7 

had been playing patriotic tunes during the fall 
at suburban rallies. 

They tuned up and with the bass horn woofing 
mightily struck into the “ Star Spangled Ban¬ 
ner.” The man in charge of the cannon was 
still occupied with his cans and his priming and 
so the band, whose Gallic sympathies were re¬ 
vealed by their patois, rendered the “ Marseil¬ 
laise ” very spiritedly. 

By that time the Canadian patriots of the 
North end had flocked with the voluble and 
vociferous dwellers of the South end, and the 
college men, ranged in solemn rows along the 
fence, were looking out on a very lively and 
very noisy scene. 

The universal opinion on the college side of 
the street was that a celebration of that sort 
before the great national contest had been de¬ 
cided, and right under the nose of a Republican 
college, too, was an arrogant piece of gall. 

While the band was playing the third selec¬ 
tion—with the bass a little less vociferous and 
rather tremulous—Justin Brown came saunter¬ 
ing down the walk from the reading-room. He 
wore his baseball cap and his jersey and was 
slapping one sturdy leg with a bamboo cane. 


8 


COLBY STORIES 


He cocked one leg over a stone post at the 
entrance of the path and clicked a heel against 
the ringing granite in time to the beat of the 
big drum. 

“ Yagger gang, isn’t it?” he asked of the 
three men who were nearest. 

“ Mostly,” said they. “ The whole crowd 
come from the Plains and over on Kennebec 
Street. There is n’t a Yankee in the gang.” 

“No more news from the count, is there? ” 
asked Brown. “ I did n’t go down town to¬ 
night.” 

“ I just came up past the telegraph office,” 
said “ Skinny” Edes, “ and they told me that it 
would take two days before they could get the 
count in shape.” 

“Those Frenchmen chipped in last week to 
buy that powder,” explained a Senior, “ and they 
are bound to burn it. They do n’t care who is 
elected or who is beaten. They just want a 
chance to chew the rag and kick up a hulla¬ 
baloo.” 

“ They probably never heard of a college 
study hour,” suggested Brown in his cool tones. 

At that moment the crowd was scuttling back 

o 

and leaving a wide space for His Majesty, the 


A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 9 

cannon. The master of ceremonies was about 
to touch off the first blast. 

He and two others had poured in plenty of 
powder and then had rammed newspaper and 
grass into the muzzle, pounding in this wadding 
with short bludgeons. This work finished, half of 
a sheet of newspaper was laid over the touch- 
hole and the powder was sprinkled over it. 
Then two of the volunteers held their hats to 
shield the match that the gunner struck against 
the leg of his humble trousers. He set fire to 
the edge of the paper and all three ran back 
into the crowd. 

The corner of the paper flared for a moment 
in the half dusk, then pouf! Up shot a tuft of 
flame and the next moment, boom ! There was 
a shock that jolted the ground. Through the 
cloud of yellow smoke the cannon turned somer¬ 
saults backward, its recoil sending it over and 
over along the sward. As soon as the smoke 
had cleared away the gunner and his crew went 
back and commenced to load once more. 

And with the woof, woof, of the bass horn 
leading off, the band galloped into another 
patriotic tune. 

“ Looks as though it might be fun firing that 


IO 


COLD Y STORIES 


cannon/’ remarked Brown. “Any of you fel¬ 
lows ever fire a cannon of that size ? ” 

“The one we have in our place,” said 
“Ancient” Ham, “ is about the size of that and 
there’s more fun in firing salutes with it than 
being on the side line in a ten-inning game.” 

“That so?” said Brown lazily. “I never 
fired a cannon. I believe I’ll go over and vol¬ 
unteer.” 

And he strolled across the road and slowly 
forced himself through the crowd that fringed 
the lawn. 

Those who remember Brown remember the 
ease of his manner. He had an especially soft 
voice and a blandness and sweetness of tone that 
somehow didn’t appear to go with his stalwart 
figure. Therefore, those whom he addressed 
always were impressed a bit by his bearing. 

He walked up to the three men who were 
loading the cannon. 

“ No objection to my watching you, have 
you?” he asked with a winning smile, for the 
boss of the job looked up a bit surlily at the 
approach of the college man. College men are 
not in especial favor with townsmen in the aver¬ 
age locality. 


















































“ Vo’ mabbe col-ladge fellaire, heh ?” 













A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 


II 


“ I ’d like to know howto fire a cannon,” said 
Brown. “ If we get the ball pennant next year 
we probably would want to hire that cannon of 
you gentlemen. And I’d like to know how to 
run it.” 

The Canadian stopped in his work of pulling 
grass. 

“Yo’ mabbe col-ladge fellaire, heh?” he asked. 

“Yes, I go to school over across the road,” 
returned Brown. 

“ Wal, yo’ mabbe t’ink yo’ come here pla’ 
som treeck, heh?” asked the other with a 
knowing grimace. 

“ Why, my dear Democratic colleague,” said 
Brown in his smoothest tone, “ do you think I 
would try to interfere with the great and the 
glorious occasion that is here in progress? 
Why, I have almost been expelled from that 
school there for sticking up for my Democratic 
principles. I am here to shake you by the hand 
and compliment you on the manner in which 
you are running this thing. And I want to 
know how to fire a cannon. What are you 
putting in all that grass for? That grass isn’t 
explosive, is it?” he queried with his blue eyes 
opening innocently. 


12 


COLBY STORIES 


“ Mak’ him spik, by gar, dat grass do,” said 
the Canadian, grinning a bit in spite of his sus¬ 
picions that the bland collegian was n’t wholly as 
ignorant as he seemed. 

“ You are perfectly sure that your man is 
elected, are n’t you? ” asked Brown. “ It would 
be too bad to make all this noise for nothing, 
and disturb all those nice young men over 
there, all for nothing, too.” 

“ W’at we care for nice yong mans, heh? 
M’ser le Boss tal us can come here and fire 
cannon and ras’ noise. And we ras’ noise, now 
yo’ bat ma life.” 

“How much powder have you?” asked 
Brown; “ enough to keep her a going all the 
evening? ” 

“ Gass he go boon-boon tal meednight putty 
good,” said the Canadian with a broad smile. 
And he proceeded to ram in the grass and 
paper. 

When the charge was lighted off Brown re¬ 
treated through the crowd back to the fence. 

“ I fear,” said he, “that our friends, the yags, 
•are inclined to be rebellious. They are both 
suspicious and opinionated. They also refer to 
the young men of this institution in uncompli- 


A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 13 

mentary terms, and are going to fire their can¬ 
non till midnight.” 

A groan went up in the dusk from the figures 
roosting along the fence. 

“ But,” continued Brown, “ there may be a 
Providence that will direct otherwise.” 

And then he sauntered along the fence and 
talked with the little knots, one after the other, 
in a low tone of voice. 

“ But, Brown,” regularly came the expostula¬ 
ting tone of some spokesman for his group, 
“ you do n’t for a moment think you are going 
to get a cannon away from five hundred French¬ 
men, do you ? ” 

“ Did I ever attempt anything I did n’t do? ” 
Brown would answer in each case. 

As he went to his room for a moment the 
rail birds excitedly discussed the project. 

The almost universal agreement was that it 
was nonsense to try it. 

“ Why, there are five hundred able-bodied 
men there,” said “Ancient” Ham. “And that 
cannon is right in the middle of them. And 
from what little I know of French Democrats I 
feel sure that they will assassinate the man who 
touches it.” 




COLBY STORIES 


When Brown came back with a slouch hat 
on and a faded coat on his back the men gath¬ 
ered around him. 

“ Now, Brown, really,” was the whispered 
chorus, “ really you do n’t mean to try it. 
Why, man, you’ll get eaten up! It’s prepos¬ 
terous ! ” 

“All I want to know,” said Brown, “ is 
whether you fellows are going to stand behind 
me. I tell you I’m going to get that cannon. 
A dozen of you can help me in the way I have 
told you. If you won’t help me I’m going in 
and do the job all by my lonesome. Now, 
what are you going to say? ” 

There was a moment of pregnant silence. 
Then the indomitable spirit of college bravado 
rose, kindled by the flashing eyes of the college 
leader. 

“ Go in, old man, we ’re with you ! ” was the 
reply. 

Brown went away first. It was dark by this 
time. The people were grouped in a great cir¬ 
cle around the cannon and the band. The only 
light came from the flaring helmet lamps of the 
musicians, and from a few torches held by 
boys. 


A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 15 

Brown strolled forward through the zone of 
spluttering lights and stood beside the men who 
were loading the cannon. The trim college 
suit had been replaced by old garments and 
the celebrators paid no especial attention to 
him. He even pulled some grass and handed 
it to the man who was stuffing the gaping can¬ 
non mouth. He sort of identified himself with 
the crowd. While he was there a dozen col¬ 
lege men had followed him across the street 
and were then mingling with the crowd that 
stood across the walk leading toward the col¬ 
lege. They were trusty chaps—that dozen, else 
Brown had never chosen them. 

As before the bit of paper was laid over the 
touch-hole, was lighted and the gunners ran 
back. They ran back still further than the first 
time for they were putting heavier and heavier 
charges in the cannon, and the frisky little 
thing was performing wilder gyrations on the 
grass every time he was fired. 

Pouf! Boom ! Out puffed the great cloud of 
smoke and rolled along the ground. But there 
was one man who had not run away with the 
others. He had stood right there with his 
back rounded up and with his old coat hugged 


16 


COLBY STORIES 


close round his ears. The moment the cannon 
barked, he leaped on it, hidden by the smoke, 
even as the piece was cavorting on the grass. 
At the same time a dozen strong arms and 
poking elbows were busy in the astonished 
throng that jammed the walk leading off the 
lawn. 

“ Back, back, team—team ! ” was the shout. 
The people obeyed, almost falling over each 
other. And down the space thus cleared 
dashed a figure on the dead run. An object 
trundled behind him in the darkness. It was 
the cannon. In amazement the throng poured 
together again in a welded, struggling mass as 
he passed. The pursuers yelling behind could 
not get through the press of their countrymen 
and the louder they yelled and swore and the 
more they pushed, the worse was the confusion 
—the more inextricable the snarl of humanity. 

When the angry men most nearly concerned 
in the celebration broke through the mass the 
cannon had been lifted through the gateway 
and was even well on its way to the darkness 
of the rear of South College. Shrieking like 
fiends in their patois the Canadians rushed 
against the deserted college fence. 


A HEAVY ARTILLERY SORTIE 17 

And then—now if you are neither a college 
graduate nor a dweller in a college town, I am 
going to say something that will in a measure 
surprise you. 

That crowd of infuriated men stopped at the 
fence. They mounted its rails, five hundred of 
them. They stood there and yelled against the 
echoing Bricks all the Yankee, French, and 
international vituperation and imprecation they 
could think of, but, not one of them put his 
foot on college territory. 

Why not? 

College men and dwellers in college towns 
are familiar with the peculiar and almost unex¬ 
plainable influence that college confines exert 
on the feelings of the mob. Even five hundred 
angry men would not venture on that mysteri¬ 
ous territory, a college campus. I have not 
time, I have not inclination, to analyze this 
silent force that thus holds college grounds 
sacred from trespass by the mob. I simply 
tell you the story. 

Even when the captors brought the cannon 
out on the walk before South College a little 
later and made it roar sarcasm and ridicule at 
those who owned it, though its red eruptions 
3 


COLBY STORIES 


18 

disclosed long lines of convulsed faces yammer¬ 
ing beyond the bars of the fence, the owners of 
those faces did nothing but curse, and when 
they were weary of cursing they strode away 
into the darkness still cursing, and the growl- 
ings of their grumblings echoed along all the 
dark streets of the city as they dispersed to 
their homes that night. 

But not an alien foot profaned the magic cir¬ 
cle of the Colby campus. 







“A product not uncommon to a college town was The Girl.” 






























IN THE DAYS OF HAZING 


The Girl smiled. It was a habit that she had, 
as she was fully aware of the natural advantages, 
including a bewitching pair of dimples and an 
even set of firm white teeth, that she could best 
exhibit in that way. She also knew that oppo¬ 
sition is unpleasant to the masculine mind and 
a smile betokens assent, although when The 
Girl was the party in question the symbol was 
often a very misleading one. Many an awk¬ 
ward Freshman, fierce Sophomore, dandified 
Junior, and even dignified Senior had suc¬ 
cumbed to that smile, and many a dinner at 
Bradley’s, or trip up the smooth flowing Mes- 
salonskee, had it won for her. 

A product not uncommon to a college town 
was The Girl. Undeniably a flirt, she lived in 
the gilded present, nor gave a thought to past 
victims nor to the future, save to idly wonder 
how many more “scalps” (for in such classic 
manner did she allude to photographs of former 


20 


COLBY STORIES 


swains) would be added to the collection that 
now almost covered the walls of her boudoir. 

The Girl was not alone this evening. All the 
other girls living along the street could have 
told you this, for, as they would have said, “the 
sign was out.” The sign referred to was a 
harmless looking pair of rubbers, but they 
would as effectually drive off male callers as 
would a bulldog. The Girl preferred to re¬ 
ceive her masculine friends singly, and had her 
callers leave their rubbers without the door, 
while her relatives kept theirs within. The sig¬ 
nal was well-known and universally respected 
by the applicants for her favor. 

The Girl was a close confidante of the college 
men and no one in the University City on the 
Kennebec was more intimately acquainted with 
the doings around the campus and the various 
episodes of the class-room than she. From the 
sturdy youth at her side The Girl had just learned 
of an elaborate plan about to be carried out by 
the Sophomores, a project that included the 
abduction of one of the Freshman leaders, and 
that would, so the bloody Sophomore thought, 
cast undying lustre upon the name of his class. 

It was nearing the end of the fall term, and 


IN THE DA YS OF HAZING 


21 


the year was in the early nineties. Hazing at 
Colby was at this time right in its prime and as 
each Freshman class had a very hard row to 
hoe, so in its next year it was determined to 
square accounts with interest upon its successor. 

Class-spirit had been running very high all 
the term. The Freshman class was large in 
numbers, having about sixty-five men, while 
the Sophomores, owing to several reasons, were 
reduced to about thirty as a working force. 
Some of the latter class were out teaching, a 
few would have nothing to do with hazing, 
while the unkindness of the faculty in compel¬ 
ling a temporary eviction of several members 
from their college quarters because of a slight 
familiarity with the chapel seats, had still fur¬ 
ther reduced the effectiveness of the Sopho¬ 
more force. 

The familiarity above mentioned had con¬ 
sisted of the application of a large quantity of 
molasses to the benches on which the Fresh¬ 
men listened to devotions, it being the idea 
of the sophomoric mind to form an undying 
attachment between the seats of the Freshmen 
and the seats of the Freshmen’s trousers. Jan¬ 
itor Sam, however, was on hand and the ex- 


22 


COLBY STORIES 


pected denouement did not occur. Explana¬ 
tions were in order and the members of ’9— 
well remember the afternoon on which they 
were sent out one by one from “Teddy’s” 
French recitation to undergo a rigid cross- 
examination from President Small. The culprits 
acknowledged their misdeed rather than involve 
the entire class and were granted a vacation for 
the remainder of the term. 

The Freshmen were not satisfied to leave 
matters here. They found it necessary to gloat 
over the discomfort of their foes. Sarcastic ref¬ 
erences to “ rustication ” and “ molasses ” flew 
about the campus. “ Phi Chi ” was chanted 
in Freshmen rooms to be changed to Yankee 
Doodle or something less offensive upon Sopho¬ 
more appearance, canes were surreptitiously 
carried when the shades of night had fallen, and 
on a memorable occasion one was borne 
across the campus at open noonday. It was 
appropriated this time, but the sting of Fresh¬ 
man defiance rankled in the breasts of the sons 
of ’9— and at last the grand plan was evolved, 
the splendid scheme for the abasement of the 
Freshmen, that The Girl by a shrewd system of 
questioning had just enticed from her friend, 


IN THE DAYS OF HAZING 23 

for they were all friends to her, just friends and 
nothing more. 

Smith, the Sophomore, had not intended to 
divulge the plan of his class when he visited 
The Girl that evening. A swell ball had been 
planned by the college men and Smith wished 
The Girl to accompany him and to wear his fra¬ 
ternity colors. She had neither accepted nor 
refused his invitation but, keeping him on the 
anxious seat as was her tantalizing custom, had 
proceeded to harass him with allusions to the 
daring of the Freshmen and the apathy of the 
Sophs. This was particularly galling to Smith, 
as Brown, the leader of the Freshmen, was his 
most detested rival in The Girl’s affection. The 
badinage had the desired effect, and the shrewd 
young lady was soon in possession of all the 
details. 

She then told the eager swain that she would 
don his colors if his party got the better of the 
Freshmen in the abduction project and hustled 
him out on his way to the Bricks as she ex¬ 
pected another caller. 

Shortly after the sophomoric rubbers were 
removed from the front porch, they were re¬ 
placed by another pair and Brown was ushered 


COLBY STORIES 


2 4 

in. It is sad to state it, but he was soon famil¬ 
iar with the designs of his sophomoric foes, for 
The Girl wished the struggle to be an entertain¬ 
ing one. Brown also proffered his request to be 
allowed to escort his hostess to the ball and 
that she wear his fraternity colors on that festive 
occasion. Her answer was similar to that vouch¬ 
safed to Smith. And thus it was that the favor 
of a lady was involved in the outcome of a 
hazing episode. 

The night itself was dark and cloudy and as 
the little band of Sophomores gathered on the 
campus, they felt that their undertaking was a 
vast one. They were but ten in number due to 
an unexpected defection caused by faint hearts. 
It was evident that the Freshmen realized that 
something was in the wind as all of the members 
of the class who had rooms down town were at 
the Bricks this evening. Brown was hustling 
from roqm to room encouraging his cohorts and 
telling them (a^ was heard at the keyhole by 
a listening Sophomore ear) to rush for the 
campus if they should hear the name of the class 
year ring out suddenly in the still night. 

And then Brown placed himself in the hands 


IN THE DA VS OF HAZING 


25 


of the enemy. He went from South College 
over to North, his passage being marked by his 
would-be abductors who crouched shivering be¬ 
hind Recitation Hall. Eagerly they awaited his 
return. Nearly all the lights were out in the 
college buildings. Across the road at the 
restaurant the genial Murray had locked his 
door as the night pullman had long since rattled 
across the bridge. 

Out in the road was an express wagon driven 
by one who knew his part in the program. 

All was ready and then the bird slipped care¬ 
lessly into the net of the fowler. 

Brown, emerging from South College, met a 
Sophomore in front of Recitation Hall. He was 
halted and while engaged in parley with the 
midnight sentinel there came a rush of feet from 
behind. Brown struck out wildly, shrieked for 
assistance,“ ’9—all out,—Help !” and was picked 
up and hustled toward the gate. 

Out from the dormitories rushed the Fresh¬ 
men in answer to the signal they had so long 
awaited. Had they been able to see through 
the darkness they might have discerned a kick¬ 
ing, squirming mass half way across the campus, 
but the darkness was too intense and the un- 


2 6 


COLBY STORIES 


sophisticated Freshmen here fell victims to the 
wiles of their opponents. 

With great forethought, Sophomores had been 
placed in front of each dormitory. As the Fresh¬ 
men rushed out into the darkness they were 
directed to the other college by these sentinels 
and for a minute there was a great rushing back 
and forth. The Freshmen, “they raced and 
they ran,” while the sophomoric Lochinvars 
bore their, in this case, unwilling victim to where 
their fiery steed was in waiting. 

At last, however, the Freshmen made a rush 
for the road. There was a brief scramble and 
Brown was thrown headfirst into the bottom of 
the wagon, a couple of his captors sitting on 
his prostrate figure. Four of the Sophs met the 
oncoming rush of the Freshman hordes, stand¬ 
ing them off for a second only, but it sufficed. 
The whip cracked across the flank of the pranc¬ 
ing horse and the express wagon started for 
Fairfield, fruitlessly pursued to the railroad 
crossing by the Freshmen, who were finally 
obliged to abandon their chase and watch the 
humiliating spectacle of the president of their 
class being borne into captivity by their hered¬ 
itary foemen. 














► 



















































* 



IN THE DAYS OF HAZING 27 

The interest of the reader would certainly flag 
if that midnight ride were described in detail. 
During the first mile or two Brown attempted 
an occasional outcry, but his captors summarily 
squelched such attempts by sitting on his head 
and he was soon glad to subside into silence. 

The team was driven a mile or two above 
Fairfield Center and halted where a high board 
fence crowned a deep snow bank. Brown was 
raised from the bottom of the wagon by eager 
hands. Back and forth he was swung until suf¬ 
ficient momentum was obtained and then sky¬ 
ward he flew. Followed by shouts of derision 
the unfortunate Freshman described a beautiful 
parabola, and, passing high above the top rail 
of the fence in his aerial transit, plunged head¬ 
foremost into the bank on the other side and 
entirely disappeared from view, only a flurry 
of snow marking the place of interment. 

But not for long did the infuriated Freshman 
remain in his snowy sepulchre. Gasping and 
spluttering he soon emerged, and, wallowing 
through the snow, reached the fence. With 
a strength accentuated by passion, he ripped off 
the top rail and thus armed started for his foe- 
men ; the latter, however, did not wait his com- 


28 


COLBY STORIES 


ing, but laughing with unbridled glee at the 
epithets and objurgations hurled after them, 
drove away on their homeward journey, leaving 
their erstwhile captive to commence his pedes¬ 
trian act to the Bricks, six long and weary miles 
away. 

And what happened at the colleges during this 
time ? There had certainly been plenty of excite¬ 
ment for the four Sophomores who were left 
behind when the wagon started. For a moment 
they were a bit phased at their predicament but 
then their second-year assurance manifested 
itself and they elbowed their way through the 
crowd of gaping Freshmen, too overcome by 
the suddenness of the affair to offer to detain 
them, to South College, and, running up the 
stairs to a room in the south division, heaved a 
sigh of relief when they had shot the heavy bolt 
that guarded the door on the inside. 

But not long were they allowed to rest in 
their fancied security. The Freshmen had re¬ 
covered from their panic and the desire for 
revenge ran high. They promptly decided to 
capture the four Sophs and introduce them to 
the pump. Up the stairs of. South College they 


IN THE DAYS OF HAZING 


2 9 


trooped, some sixty in number. In the mean¬ 
time the Seniors and Juniors attracted by the 
noise had turned out to watch the fun, the 
latter egging the Freshmen on with their usual 
promises of support inspired, not by any love 
for the “Freshies” but by that desire of wit¬ 
nessing a rumpus that seems inherent in Juniors. 
The throng of avengers sweeping up the stairs, 
found their way balked by the strong oak-door. 
They clamored for admission and were told 
from within that they would receive their answer 
in a few minutes. 

In the room sat the four Sophs, not, as one 
would suppose, discussing the situation, but 
awaiting a decision from the owner of the room. 

They well knew the purpose of the Freshmen 
and did not propose to yield, but left it to J. 
to say whether he would open his door or have 
it battered down, for there seemed no other 
alternative. 

The scene that followed will never be for¬ 
gotten by the Sophs within the room. J. was 
an intensely religious young man and it may 
seem odd that he was to be found implicated in 
a hazing affair, but while not favoring hazing on 
general principles, he was far more violently op * 


3° 


CO LB V STORIES 


posed to the exhibition of brashness on the part 
of Freshmen, and felt that an effort to reduce 
such freshness was a legitimate transaction. 
Now J. was at his wits’ end. He was in doubt 
whether to open his door and humble his head 
to the smiter, or if he should resist to the last 
ounce of his strength. The latter course more 
surely appealed to his manly valor and pride, 
the former at the first thought seemed more 
nearly to coincide with his religious ideals. 

J. bowed his head upon his hands and re¬ 
mained a minute or two as if in prayer, regard¬ 
less of the growing murmurs in the passage 
without, where the Freshmen were becoming 
impatient of the delay, but had not reached that 
pitch of supreme boldness at which they must 
arrive before proceeding to emancipate them¬ 
selves from thraldom by breaking in the door of 
an upper classman. 

J. raised his face from his hands and upon 
his features was a look of defiance which clearly 
indicated that an unalterable decision had been 
taken and that coercion was now entirely out of 
the question. 

He strode across the room to the corner 
where several baseball bats were resting against 








“ With this announcement... the door was thrown wide open.” 






































































































































IN THE DAYS OF HAYING 3 ! 

the wall; grasping a club firmly in his hands 
with the style of the practiced ball player which 
he was, J. took his position in front of the 
door, and thus theatrically but forcibly an¬ 
nounced his decision to the raging crowd 
without: 

“ I have thought the matter over and have 
come to a decision. You ask to come in and 
say ‘ Open the door or we will break it down.’ 
I do not care to have the door broken so I 
shall open it. But my room is my castle and 
no man is entitled to enter without my permis¬ 
sion. I extend to you no such invitation nor 
do I wish your company. For your own good 
I will state that I stand here with a baseball bat 
in my hands, and if you attempt to rush in when 
the door is opened the first man will get a 
broken head. I am in earnest and shall do as 
I say. If you try to come in you must take 
the consequences, and I believe that the law 
and the Lord will uphold me in what I may do.” 

With this announcement which became cele¬ 
brated in the annals of the class as “ J’s Ulti¬ 
matum ” the door was thrown wide open. 
About three feet from the threshold stood J. 
with his bat aloft and a very determined look 


32 


COLBY STORIES 


upon his visage. Without were grouped the 
Freshmen, irresolute, undetermined. There 
were brave men among them and they disliked 
to be balked of their prey so publicly. But 
they knew J. and that he would keep his word 
to the letter. They would have rushed al¬ 
most any other man in college in a similar posi¬ 
tion, feeling sure that he would surrender rather 
than run the chance of killing a man in his 
resistance. But J. was made of different cali¬ 
bre from ordinary college students, and while 
most of the Freshmen were willing to follow, 
none would lead. And so the minutes passed 
until, ashamed of their irresolution, the invaders 
gradually retreated, and J. and his colleagues 
were at ease once more. 

Nor did it hurt their feelings any to learn a 
little later that the Freshmen had descended 
upon the Sophs who had backed out of the 
enterprise of the evening and subjected them to 
a bit of rough treatment, which would have 
terminated with a trip to the pump but for the 
intervention of some of the Seniors. 

It was six A. M. when Brown arrived back at 
the campus utterly fagged out and disgusted. 


IN THE DAYS OF HAZING 


33 


He had tried to rouse a farmer to drive him 
back but had been warned off the premises and 
threatened with a charge of buckshot in case 
he did not instantly obey. He had been chased 
by a dog, and torn his clothes and fingers on a 
barbed wja*e fence. 

But during his long walk home, Brown had 
been steadily conjuring his brain for some plan 
of revenge upon his enemies, and ere he had 
arrived at the college gates he had decided 
upon a course of action. 

At that time the board of conference or col¬ 
lege jury had just been established. The board 
was composed of students chosen by their vari¬ 
ous classes and was for the purpose of arbitrating 
differences between students, preventing the 
wanton destruction of college property, etc. 

It was also customary to assess each Sopho¬ 
more class for the entire cost of the broken 
windows, doors, lamps, and other damaged 
articles around the college. 

Now, Brown had discovered a slight rent in 
his ulster caused by contact with the barbed 
wire. Herein lay his opportunity. He would 
put in a bill to the conference board demanding 
damages of $25 for the wanton destruction of 
4 


34 


COLBY STORIES 


his property. He carried out his plan and after 
a fierce but fruitless opposition on the part of 
the Sophomores of the board, the petition of 
Brown was granted, and a few weeks later the 
term bills of the Sophomores contained a special 
item of 66 cents per man for their share of the 
purchase money of a new ulster. 

The evening before the ball at length arrived, 
and at the appointed hour, Smith and Brown, 
the eager swains, started for The Girl’s home for 
the decision. As neither knew The Girl had set 
the same hour for their coming, they were a 
little surprised to find themselves traveling down 
College avenue together and especially that their 
ways did not part. Each was stubborn, how¬ 
ever, and they walked along until the termina¬ 
tion of the journey was reached. The Girl 
answered the bell and was not a bit put out to 
find the applicants for her favor coming in pairs. 
She had dealt with too many undergraduates 
before and rather enjoyed the situation. She 
ushered them in and entertained them merrily 
although each of the visitors was as silent as the 
grave. The hours passed, Brown and Smith 
doggedly setting themselves to the task of stay- 


IN THE DAYS OF HAZING 


35 


ing the other out 1 At last the midnight hour 
arrived and then The Girl suddenly arose. In 
one hand she held the blue and white tassel, in 
the other the red, yellow, and blue. 

“ Each of you gentlemen has asked me to 
wear his colors,” said she, “ and I left the deci¬ 
sion to your wits. I find that honors are about 
equal, one is about equally as stupid as the 
other. As there is no choice, I will wear both.” 
And so saying, to the intense disgust of 
her visitors, The Girl proceeded to fasten both 
tassels to her gown, using for the purpose the 
glittering society emblem of a third fraternity. 
“ It is really the pin, not the colors that count,” 
she remarked, “ and I have promised to go to 
the ball with Black of the Junior class, who is a 
Gamma Gamma man, you know.” 

It was the last straw. Smith and Brown 
silently arose, reached for their hats, and de¬ 
parted. The night air finally revived them 
somewhat and on their way to the Bricks they 
formed a solemn compact and as a result the 
house of The Girl knew them no more during 
their college course. 


HOW WALLY WENT TO THE FIRE 


“A story about my college days? Well, let 
me see; did I ever tell you how Wally went to 
the fire? You’ve heard me speak of Walsing- 
ham,—he was a round-cheeked, dapper little 
man, who always dressed well, always met the 
world with a smile, and always did everything 
in quite an appropriate and regular manner. 
One night, however, chance or long habit led 
him to dress his part too faithfully, and—but 
I ’ll begin at the beginning. 

“ ’T was the night of the annual night-shirt 
parade, which is never premeditated, and never 
announced, and always happens spontaneously 
once a year. It had been a stifling day, some¬ 
where about the middle of June, and even at 
midnight was decidedly warm. The heat and 
the impossibility of sleeping, and the restless¬ 
ness that marks the end of the college year, 
had made us all uneasy that evening, and those 
who had gone to bed were wondering why they 


HO W WALLY WENT TO THE FIRE 37 

had done so. All at once someone in the group 
still lingering on the steps of South College ex¬ 
claimed, ‘ Let’s have a night-shirt parade ! ’ 
The suggestion was enough; the others took 
up the cry, shouts and horn-blasts roused the 
inmates of the dormitories, and in fifteen min¬ 
utes the whole college was out. Even Billy 
‘ Grinds’ was there with his eye-shade over his 
forehead—the man who stayed in from the base¬ 
ball games to study Greek. His real name was 
Grimes, and it was a disputed point whether he 
wore his eye-shade to bed or not. 

“ Every man wore a night-shirt over his 
clothes, every man had a tin horn, and every 
man was an officer and told the others what to 
do. In spite of this last difficulty the lines were 
soon formed, and our white clad procession, 
ghostly to the eye, and anything but ghostly to 
the ear, tooted and shouted and sang its way 
through the principal streets of the little city. 
Some hundreds, at least, of peaceful citizens 
were waked from sleep by a tumult, which to a 
less hardened community would have suggested 
a Ku Klux Klan or a band of Indians, accord¬ 
ing to individual imagination and taste in fiction. 
But those long-suffering Watervillians, with the 


38 


COLBY STORIES 


usual patience of dwellers in a college town, 
went quietly to sleep again, murmuring with or 
without an expletive, ‘ It’s only the college 
boys on the rampage.’ The official program 
closed with a marvelous concert and ghost- 
dance on the lawn next the president’s house, 
while all the neighboring residents watched 
from their windows. 

“ But the unofficial program was not so 
soon terminated. With an enthusiasm which 
few of us ever displayed in working hours, we 
all set to work changing the positions of vari¬ 
ous landmarks about the campus, to try the 
artistic effects of a new arrangement. We 
planted the neighboring electric car station on 
the Library steps; moved the settees from the 
recitation rooms to a location on the river bank 
where we thought the scenery more inspiring 
than the blackboards which usually confronted 
them; leaned about fifty feet of circus bill¬ 
board against the Freshman side of the chapel, 
so that all might read the legend ‘ Greatest 
Show on Earth,’ and stopped to wonder what 
we should do next. 

“Just then we caught sight of a blaze of 
yellow light over the tops of the houses toward 


HOW IVALLY WE ATT TO THE FIRE 39 


the upper end of the city. The whole crowd 
started on the run for what looked like an 
unusually fine fire. But before we had gone 
far it became evident that the burning building 
was some distance out in the country, and 
most of the boys, one by one, turned back, till 
four of us,—‘ Hop ’ and Arthur and Wally and 
I—found ourselves alone on the outskirts of the 
city. Wally was willing to turn back, too, but 
we told him the fire was only a little way off 
across the fields and we were not going to have 
our run for nothing. 

“The peculiar thing was that Wally was 
bashful about going back without us. You 
see he was in bed when the first summons to 
join the parade was howled through his door, 
and he did n’t stop to put anything on under 
his night-shirt. The rest of us had taken our 
uniforms *>ff before the fun on the campus 
began, but Wally could n’t waste time to dress, 
and so for obvious reasons he had retained what 
covering he had, and now he found himself a 
quarter of a mile from the Bricks, in night¬ 
shirt, eyeglasses, cap, and shoes. Somehow 
he did n’t seem anxious to go back through the 
streets alone. I suppose he felt as if our com- 


4 o 


COLBY STORIES 


pany protected him from the ‘blows and buffets 
of the world ’ to which he had so much surface 
exposed. At any rate when we started off across 
the fields Wally disconsolately followed. 

“ The first field was all well enough, but 
when we climbed the fence into the second we 
found ourselves in a regular jungle of bushes 
and thorns. Wally’s night-shirt caught on the 
brambles, his bare legs were scratched and 
bruised, his glasses tumbled off. When the 
rest of us had struggled through the tangle we 
missed him, but a plaintive voice told us he was 
near, and soon we caught sight of his white 
night-shirt in the darkness of the thicket, shin¬ 
ing like the famous bit of virtue in a world of sin. 

“When Wally came up he seemed to feel 
decidedly grieved with us and the world in gen¬ 
eral, and he began to reason with us again on 
the subject of going back. But ‘Hop’ pointed 
with one eloquent gesture at the thicket behind 
and Wally said no more. He knew that if he 
made that passage again, he would be qualified, 
at least half way up his body, for the position 
of tattooed man in a side-show. 

“ We thought the worst was over now and 
pressed eagerly on. We found ourselves next 


HOW WALLY WENT TO THE FIRE 4 1 

in a hayfield where the grass was up to our 
waists and dripping with dew. In two minutes 
we were wet to the skin from the waist down; 
it was as if we were wading in three feet of 
water. Wally did n’t like the feeling of the wet 
night-shirt flapping against his legs, so he 
carried out the wading idea by gathering the 
garment up around his waist,—girding up his 
loins like the prophets of old. The rear view 
thus presented was irresistibly suggestive of 
the maternal slipper, and no doubt if Wally’s 
mother had been there she would have followed 
out the suggestion most vigorously. 

“ We waded on, through field after field of 
the sam.e kind, while from each hilltop the fire 
seemed further off than ever. When we started, 
it was not more than half a mile away; now it 
was at least two miles. Wally would have gone 
back long ago but for the thought of the thicket 
behind, and the terrors of a solitary passage 
through the city streets in a costume more 
suited to the time than to the place. At last 
the hayfields came to an end, and we comforted 
ourselves with the thought that our passage 
would now be easier at least. Wally began to 
grow cold so ‘Hop’ lent him a coat, and the up- 


42 


COLBY STORIES 


per half of the night-shirt was eclipsed; the 
lower half still flapped disconsolately about his 
legs. But Wally himself had grown more 
cheerful and was now resolved to make the 
best of a difficult situation. 

“With a feeling of relief, which was soon to 
be dissipated, we emerged from the last hayfield 
into a pasture, whose surface was a succession 
of rocks, hollows, and mounds, all covered with 
a deceptive growth of ferns and moss. In the 
dark it was impossible to pick our way, and 
every now and then Wally’s white night-shirt 
would disappear from sight, as he stubbed his 
toe on a rock, and pitched headlong into an un¬ 
suspected abyss, leaving only a pair of waving 
legs visible to mark the spot. Each time he 
emerged, a little more soiled and bedraggled but 
still cheerful, even in his comments on the 
arrangement of the landscape. 

“And so we kept on until the twelve labors 
of Hercules were nothing to the difficulties we 
had conquered. At last, after what seemed 
hours of traveling, we came to a road ! And 
right across this road, twenty rods back, was 
the burning house, still blazing brightly. Trium¬ 
phantly we started up the driveway, but there 


HOW WALLY WENT TO THE FIRE 


ill the light of the fire, seated on a pile of fur¬ 
niture, Wally caught sight of a girl. Now Wally 
was a modest youth—in spite of appearances— 
and he stopped short. Probably the girl’s ap¬ 
parel was not much more abundant than 
Wally’s own, but the outer layer at least was 
more conventional, and Wally could not bear 
the thought of embarrassing her. So he sent 
the rest of us along to warm ourselves at the fire 
while he squatted down in the tall grass by the 
roadside and rested from the labors of his 
journey. As we sat on a log before the blazing 
house, and questioned the family, who were 
sitting motionless and silent, watching the de¬ 
struction of their home, we could see Wally’s 
round cheeks and nicely parted hair peeping at 
us over the tall grass, while the firelight shone 
and glistened on his glasses. 

“ Before long we were astonished to see three 
more fellows coming up the driveway. ‘Hop’ 
remarked that he would not have believed there 
were three more such fools in college. When 
these new-comers caught sight of Wally’s head 
above the tops of the grass they stopped to in¬ 
vestigate what seemed to be a new style of 
vegetation; and when they recognized Wally, 


44 


COLBY STORIES 


they took pity on his forlorn condition and per¬ 
suaded him that his costume was perfectly 
proper and presentable. The night-shirt alone, 
they said, might be a bit unconventional, al¬ 
though they felt sure that few people in Water- 
ville were wearing more at that moment. But 
they pointed out that Wally had on other gar¬ 
ments which quite altered the effect. The eye¬ 
glasses, in their opinion, removed any suggestion 
of undress and no one could deny that a coat was 
an altogether modest and conventional garment. 

“Thus persuaded, Wally overcame his scruples 
and all four joined us on the log. Whether the 
inhabitants of that region were accustomed to 
wear similarly simple costumes on their even¬ 
ing rambles, or whether misfortune had benumbed 
the senses of the little group of people who sat 
there among their household gods, I have never 
known; but certain it is that not a word or 
glance betrayed their curiosity at Wally’s unique 
get up, or deepened the blush which tinged his 
cheek. Indeed, I suspect that their indifference 
cut him just a little, for, contrary to all his past 
experience with the fair sex, the girl paid ab¬ 
solutely no attention to his presence. 

“ But this temporary annoyance was dispelled 








. . . His bare legs stretched out to the fire, . . . the cigar in 
his mouth, his face the picture of peace after pain.” 







HOW WALLY WENT TO THE FIRE 45 

by a new joy. In the pocket of ‘ Hop’s ’ coat, 
Wally found a cigar, and straightway lighted it 
with a brand from the fire. I can see him now 
as he sat there on the log, his bare legs stretched 
out to the fire, the steam rising from the wet 
flaps of his night-shirt, the cigar in his mouth, 
his face the picture of peace after pain. 

“An hour later when the light of the early 
morning made the last flames of the dying fire 
look pale behind us, a milkman driving his cart 
into the city overtook our little band of seven 
weary travelers, plodding down the road. Being 
a kind-hearted soul he offered to give two of us 
a ride, and the lot fell to Wally and me. The 
milkman cast a good many curious and medita¬ 
tive glances at Wally’s bare legs, but our gravity 
was perfect and no question betrayed his curiosity. 
When he drove into College avenue and pulled 
up in front of North College, Wally climbed out, 
thanked our benefactor gravely and walked up 
the path with all the dignity his costume 
allowed. The milkman looked after him with 
with a curious glance, and then turned to me. 

“ ‘If that feller belonged to me,’ he said, ‘I 
should n’t send him to this college. I sh’d 
locate him jest a little further down river.’ 


4 6 


COLBY STORIES 


“‘Down river?’ I enquired. ‘Oh! you 
mean Bowdoin? ’ 

“‘Wa’al, no,’ the man said slowly, with an 
oracular wink,—‘ it was the Insane Hospittle I 
was thinkin’ of.” 


AN IMPUTED SIN 


“ The gentleman from the effete East will tell 
a story.” 

I was seated as a chance guest at the annual 
banquet given by the University Club of a bust¬ 
ling Michigan city last winter. Stories and 
songs, chiefly of college days, had been circling 
the board, and I had listened with all the enjoy¬ 
ment of a non-participant secure in the protec¬ 
tion of my obscurity. 

Suddenly from the president’s lips fell the 
words that I have quoted. I became conscious 
that the eyes of the company were centered 
upon me. Before I quite knew what was hap¬ 
pening, I found myself on my feet; and after a 
wild dive into my mental storage, I brought 
out the following reminiscence of Colby, which 
I proceeded to tell in some such fashion as I 
here repeat it: 

Poets are of two kinds, the full-blooded and 
the anaemic; the poets from excess of strength 


4 8 


COLBY STORIES 


and the poets from excess of weakness; the 
poets whose overcharged emotional natures, 
unable to find sufficient outlet in action, turn to 
artistic expression as a safety-valve, and the 
poets, who, incapable of strong feeling, instinc¬ 
tively resort to the stimulus of verse to supply 
their emotional deficiency. 

Eddy Wildflower was a poet of the anaemic 
type. He entered Colby in one of the classes 
immediately succeeding mine, that is, soon after 
the Centennial year. He had read the Colby 
Oracle for several years, and he had devoured 
the Colby Echo from its first number down to 
the date of his entrance examination. He knew 
by heart the poems of the distinguished contrib¬ 
utors who had shed a glory upon those publica¬ 
tions, and it was the strongest yearning of his 
sub-freshman existence to meet face to face 
these literary Immortals. 

Eddy was himself a prolific writer, and there 
was no kind of poetry that daunted him. It 
may be too much to ask that a poet in our day 
should invent new metrical forms; but we cer¬ 
tainly have a right to demand of any poet, who 
forces his work upon our attention, that it shall 
contain something new, a fresh fancy, a gleam 


A At IMPUTED SIN 


4 $ 


of insight, a flash of imagination illuminating 
some depth of human experience. Any such 
requisition, however, upon the creative ability 
of Eddy Wildflower would have been a waste 
of effort. The poetry that he wrote was not 
the product of his own communion with 
nature or life, but the mere froth that ran over 
when he had filled up his own aesthetic empti¬ 
ness from the springs of some real poet’s imagi¬ 
nation. Unflattering as this description may 
seem, it is difficult in any other words to set 
forth the utterly vapid character of his versifying. 

Eddy once quoted to me the anecdote of 
Swinburne’s taking a stool and sitting at the 
feet of Browning, though for his part he deemed 
the homage due the other way, and he therefore 
sympathized with Browning’s comment, while 
shocked at his profanity, in calling Swinburne a 
“ damned fool ” for doing it. I am not aware 
that Eddy ever imitated literally this act of his 
favorite poet, but he certainly did so in all 
other senses. To every college poet—and 
were we not in those days at Colby, as Dr. 
Johnson said of Pembroke college, “ a nest of 
singing birds?”—Eddy Wildflower offered up 
the most persistent and abject adoration. He 
5 


5o 


COLBY STORIES 


would talk with us by the hour about poetry 
and poets, never venturing an opinion himself 
that had not the sanction of triteness, but treas¬ 
uring our remarks as if they were the poetic 
wisdom of Horace, Boileau, and Pope rolled 
into one. Fortunately for our comfort he had 
not a scrap of pretense, and, strange to say, he 
fully understood his own weakness and even its 
emotional source. “ Oh ! if I could only suffer 
some blighting, blasting, affliction,” he once 
said to me, “ be crossed in love and nearly go 
mad, then I might become a great poet. But 
I am afraid such good luck is too much for me 
to hope for. However, I am young yet, and I 
sha’n’t despair.” I told him that if he only 
could despair it might fill the bill; but he an¬ 
swered with a sigh, “ Ah ! if I only could.” 

In outward appearance Wildflower was a 
well-built fellow, six feet tall, with an intellec¬ 
tual head. He was a blonde, wore side whis¬ 
kers and a moustache, and would have been fine 
looking had it not been for a weakness that per¬ 
vaded his facial expression and even his bodily 
movements. He was too lackadaisical for a 
scholar, and too dawdling to care for athletics. 
The only exercise he ever took besides sitting 


AN IMPUTED SIN 51 

on the river bank—if that can be called exer¬ 
cise—was bowling, and once while he was en¬ 
gaged in this recreation, the crisis of his life oc¬ 
curred, the incident that changed his whole 
career. 

It was a dull, cold Saturday morning in 
spring. Eddy and I were bowling against 
Fritz and Jerry, and for once were getting a 
little the better of them. Eddy’s face shone 
with triumph and perspiration, and he was just 
poising a ball to bowl off a spare—he always 
used small balls, as he disliked the exertion of 
lifting heavy ones—when the door of the gym¬ 
nasium flew open, and Eddy’s roommate, with 
three or four other fellows, burst in, exclaiming, 
“ You’ve got to look out, Eddy! The father of 
one of the girls in your school last winter is 
down here, and he swears by ginger he will 
make it hot for you.” Eddy dropped his ball, 
turned as white as chalk, and looked as if he 
would sink upon the alley. Finally he gasped, 
“ For Heaven’s sake, fellows, what must I do? ” 
“ Oh ! we’ve fixed that all right,” his chum 
replied. “Some of the boys took him over 
to the Library, telling him you would probably 
be there. They agreed to keep him out of the 


52 


COLBY STORIES 


way for half an hour. The best thing you can 
do is to pack your trunk and skip on the 
eleven o’clock train.” Eddy wrung his chum’s 
hand, and staggered out with the group, cov¬ 
ering them with thanks, and vowing that no 
fellow ever had such faithful friends. 

The rest of us followed out of curiosity, and 
we all went up to Wildflower’s room, where we 
helped him pitch his things into his trunk, he 
all the time talking a blue streak, one moment 
pouring out protestations of gratitude, and the 
next minute eloquent with fear lest he should 
be caught before he could get away. Suddenly 
to my surprise, for I was not in . the secret, 
Eddy’s roommate snickered, and the others 
burst into a loud laugh. Eddy stood still for a 
moment, then the blood rushed into his face, 
and he seized a limp Bible which happened to 
be near his hand—for Eddy was a Sunday- 
school teacher—and flung it so quickly and with 
such force at his chum’s head as to knock him 
off his feet. Eddy then snatched up the spittoon 
and threw it among us, yelling, “ Clear out, you 

-! ” We were all so appalled by 

his fury and his profanity, for none of us had 
ever imagined Eddy knew how to swear, that 



AN IMPUTED SIN 


53 


we tumbled over each other in a rush to escape. 
Eddy slammed and locked the door behind us, 
and nobody saw him again until Monday morn¬ 
ing. Then he appeared upon the campus as 
calm as if nothing had happened. But he was 
a changed man, or rather a man, from that time 
forth. It is a curious fact that he wrote no 
more poetry nor even mentioned it, nor, so 
long as he remained in college, did he renew 
his religious associations. 

Strange to say, the boys now began to speak 
of Eddy with a certain respect as if he were 
a man of the world and capable of self-assertion, 
even before it became evident what a change 
the occurrence had wrought in him. Of course 
everybody at the time put the worst construc¬ 
tion on the incident; but afterwards, in thinking 
the matter over, I decided that his natural tim¬ 
idity alone was sufficient to have caused his ter¬ 
rified behavior. I saw no reason jwhy his con¬ 
science need have had anything more criminal 
to reproach him with than indiscreet words of 
endearment, or possibly caresses, bestowed 
upon some too-willing country maiden, which 
his fears had magnified at the moment into a 
claim for a promise of marriage. At the pres- 


54 


COLBY STORIES 


ent time, however, in reviewing the whole affair, 
I feel confident that his fright had not even this 
foundation, but was the result of a stampede, 
pure and simple. 

The next morning at my hotel I was sur¬ 
prised to receive a call from the president of the 
University Club. He was a florid, clean-shaven 
business man, a lumber dealer, evidently pros¬ 
perous, and proud of his success. Disregard¬ 
ing the meaningless comment on the weather 
with which I essayed to open the conversation, 
he began at once with the subject of his visit. 

“ When you started in last night,” he said, 
“ I did n’t see what you were driving at. But 
after a while I caught on, and then I watched 
mighty close to see how you were coming out. 
You had the whole thing right, even to your 
solution of the problem at the end.” 

I stared at my visitor in a vain puzzle to catch 
his meaning. But he went on, “ By Jove, 
though, I’m glad you used the name you did. 
I would n’t have that story get out here for 
twice the amount of my college bills.” 

At last a light flashed in upon me. I 
started back and exclaimed, “ Great Caesar’s 
ghost, if it isn’t old Sideboards!” 


NUMBER ’ STEEN, NORTH COLLEGE 


This room, though it had one of the best 
locations in the division, had been unoccupied 
ever since I entered college; and year in, year 
out, it had collected trunks, broken furniture, 
old mattresses and dirt, until it was literally full 
of rubbish. 

The room had the reputation of being “ hoo¬ 
dooed,” among the boys, but little was said on 
the subject as no one cared to be regarded as 
superstitious; they merely said that there was 
something unhealthy about the room, as no one 
had stayed in it long, and so it lay neglected. 

A Freshman, however, bought it and furnished 
it upon entering college, but after the first week 
hurriedly moved out and could scarcely be per¬ 
suaded to enter the door again. I liked the 
location of the room and when I wanted to 
move in the spring, bought it from the Fresh¬ 
man, who had offered it at a very low figure. 
Before the transaction was complete, however, 


COLBY STORIES 


56 

his sense of honor impelled him to tell me sol¬ 
emnly that the room was haunted. 

“ Rats, or B. B.’s?” I inquired. 

“ No, no, ghosts , as I live,” he answered with 
a look of terror. “It groans, and—Gad, it’s 
awful! ” he added with a shudder. 

Now my ancestors were hard headed tillers of 
the soil, who believed implicitly in the articles 
of the Baptist faith, the Republican party, and 
the Zion's Advocate , but they were not given 
to belief in the supernatural. I had paid no 
attention to the foolish legends that the room 
had collected along with its dirt and rubbish, 
and promptly laughed the poor Freshman to 
scorn, and told him that if the ghosts were thrown 
in, I ’d take the room at the price agreed upon. 

The first few evenings spent in my new quar¬ 
ters were peaceful enough, and I congratulated 
myself on the bargain I had made. One hot, 
tedious afternoon had melted into evening before 
I left my work in the laboratory. I had bun¬ 
gled and slopped through the process for the 
metals of Group II; I had missed many of 
them, received a well-deserved and characteris¬ 
tic rebuke in consequence, and at last crawled 
out into the fresh air, saturated with fumes of 

































Forthwith 1 was made the smiling but unwilling victim of her first Welsh rarebit. 












NUMBER ’ STEEN\ NORTH COLLEGE 57 

hydrogen sulphid, smelling and feeling very 
like a bad egg. I was tired, discouraged, and 
disgusted. I decided that I needed diversion, 
so I donned my war paint and went calling. 

During this performance I was called upon to 
admire the new chafing-dish of my hostess, and 
forthwith I was made the smiling but unwilling 
victim of her first Welsh rarebit. This was of 
the delicate consistency of a rubber door-mat, 
but I dared not refuse and returned to the 
Bricks with inward misgivings. 

As I stumbled into the darkness of my room 
I remembered that my lamp was empty, and that 
I had failed to borrow any oil in the division as 
my ,credit was bad; so I sank into my arm¬ 
chair facing the windows and gazed through 
the swaying foliage of the trees, at a couple of 
arc lights that blinked sleepily at me from be¬ 
yond the crossing. I reflected sentimentally 
that “ she ” wore a very becoming dress that 
evening, and then I thought of the rarebit,— 
with a pang,—and remembered sadly that the 
Jamaica ginger bottle stood empty on the shelf. 
I do n’t know how long I sat there staring 
dreamily out on the campus when a misty 
something formed around the two lights which 


COLBY S TORIES 


58 

now glared on my startled vision like fearful 
eyes. Then a nebulous human figure became 
more and more distinctly visible, sitting in my 
window-seat directly opposite me. 

There was a slow, ponderous clank of chains, 
and then a most indescribably horrible groan 
burst from the shadowy figure before me. My 
hair stood stiffly erect and a chill sweat of terror 
oozed from every pore. 

It was the ghost at last! 

For a few moments I was too frightened to 
move a muscle, but I thought of my matter- 
of-fact ancestors, and vowed with all the 
strength of my will that I would not be terrified 
by anything so unreal as a ghost. As soon as 
I could steady my voice, I asked my visitor, 
with a feeble attempt at a sneer, if he did n’t 
think this clanking-chain act rather obsolete? 

“ These are n’t the days of castles and dun¬ 
geon-keeps,” I expostulated. “ Now a real 
up-to-date ghost, like an up-to-date wheel, you 
know, ought to be chainless.” 

The ghost looked huffy and replied in a 
sepulchral tone that he supposed that was 
what all self-respecting ghosts were accustomed 
to do, and he thought he did it pretty well, 


NUMBER ’ STEEN,\ NORTH COLLEGE 59 

seeing he had n’t been in the business ten years. 
He admitted that it. was rather inconvenient 
hauling the chain around, but asked me what I 
thought of his groan, and promptly shot off one 
for my edification. Human ear never heard 
such a sound ; fiendish hatred and utter despair 
were rolled together in a groan that froze my 
blood and nearly shattered my nerves. 

When I recovered, I stammered that the 
groan was a good one, but he’d better save it, 
then, in a burst of vexation, said that I wished 
he would dispense with the groan as well, and 
asked why in thunder he did n’t rest in peace, 
instead of annoying people at unearthly hours, 
and gave him to understand that the ghost busi¬ 
ness itself was out of date anyway. 

“I can’t rest,” said he, mournfully, “my life 
was a terrible tragedy.” Then he went on to . 
say that this was his old room in college, and he 
intended to haunt it whether I liked it or not. 

I invited him to go to—well,where he came from, 
but the hint was wholly ignored. Then, with a 
malicious glance of those glaring eyes, he let off 
another of his fiendish groans. That nearly 
finished me, and when I caught my breath, I 
hurriedly changed the subject and asked him if 


6o 


COLBY STORIES 


he would just as soon sit somewhere else, as on 
my favorite cushion on the window-seat. 

“ You see,” I explained/' I do n’t want to get 
it wet, and I suppose a foggy affair like you 
is n’t perfectly anhydrous.” 

At that final word a sudden change came 
over him. He wobbled, as if a breeze had 
struck him, the entire apparition grew fainter 
and the blazing eyes faded with a look of ter¬ 
ror. That word hit him somewhere, I reflected. 
Chemistry ! The inspiration struck me full blast, 
and I asked him with a grin, what made him 
“ evaporate to one-third of his former bulk.” 
He had just started one of his knock-out groans 
in self-defence, but it dwindled off into a dis¬ 
tressful moan. 

“Aw, infantile /” 1 snorted contemptuously, 
“ I call that bad work,” I continued with a most 
annihilating drawl. Now the ghost was the 
victim, and he had become so faint as to be 
scarcely visible. I even pitied him, and offered 
him my favorite briar pipe to help him regain 
his density. He lighted the pipe with trem¬ 
bling fingers and dropped the burnt match to 
the floor. 

“ Do n’t you know,” I fairly yelled at him, 


NUMBER \ STEEN, NORTH COLLEGE 61 

“ that the man who throws a match on the 
floor is a Bungler ?” A scarcely audible moan 
of anguish was the only response, and the pipe 
dropped from his ghostly fingers. “ That ’ll do, 
thanks!” I shouted in stern exultation. “Next, 

pi-,” but the ghost had feebly flickered and 

vanished, and the next I heard was a pounding 
upon the door, as I struggled for consciousness 
with the sun shining brightly on the trees out¬ 
side my window. 

The fellows who roomed above me wanted 
to know what made me so infernally noisy last 
night, and advised me to take the pledge. I did, 
to forever abstain from Welsh rarebit, but said 
nothing of my experience. I browsed around the 
Library that afternoon, and looked up thoroughly 
the history of ’ Steen, North College. It ap¬ 
peared that several years ago, a fellow had died 
there in the spring of his Junior year and since 
then the room had not been popular. I found 
his name and learned, as I expected, that he 
had elected the spring Chemistry. I understood. 

I have never been disturbed since that night, 
and when the Freshman asked anxiously if I 
had seen the ghost, I answered oracularly that 
I had “ laid ” it. 



TOM AND SMITH 


One day in July, i860, a carriage passed 
slowly down College street drawn by a dusty 
black horse, and containing two very anxious 
looking boys. The cause of their anxiety was 
twofold,—examination next day, and a desire 
to find a blacksmith shop. The shop was soon 
discovered and a shoe set on the said horse. 
And when the financier of the duet demurred at 
the price, fifty cents, the begrimed son of 
Vulcan informed them that it was “Commence¬ 
ment Week,” and horseshoeing was on the 
cornua taurorum . “ Dies irae ” occurred the 

next day in the Plutonean abodes of the old 
Chapel. Teste Lyford cum Prof. Johnnie, con¬ 
cerning which animus meminisse horret. 

By the way, the platform in that underground 
room became decayed and a motherly-looking 
toad had a home there, and she came out every 
day to hear Waldron’s essay in the rhetoric 
class. One summer the wicked boys put ten 


TOM AND SMITH 


63 


toads under the platform and waited for the 
Prof, to come. All were quiet enough till 
Brackett began to read Latin. They could n’t 
stand that anyhow, so out they came and hop¬ 
ped for the door at full speed. “The effect 
was electrical.” There were few X’s that term. 

On Commencement Day those two adven¬ 
turesome youths were allowed to follow at a 
respectful distance the awe-inspiring Sophs 
down to the church. The boys discovered some 
very original characters among them. During 
the halt of the procession, one of the Sophs 
stepped back and asked Smith in a very per¬ 
emptory manner, “ How did you get that hump 
on your back ?” Fresh replied that the Al¬ 
mighty had put it there. The Soph seemed to 
be astonished that it should have been done with¬ 
out his consent. He then demanded of Tom— 
“Why in thunder do you wear glasses?” Tom 
said he was near-sighted. The Soph was still 
dissatisfied, and said so. We will call said Soph 
by way of distinction, “Judge.” There used to 
be a tradition around the college that the habit 
of inquisitiveness commenced very young with 
the “Judge.” His first inquiry was, why he 
did n’t have two mouths as well as two eyes, and 


6 4 


COLBY STORIES 

his next sentence criticised his father for not wear¬ 
ing more clothes on the top of his head. The 
“Judge” still retains the same censorious way of 
looking at the deeds of frail humanity. Very 
few are satisfied with his estimate of their moral 
turpitude. 

Soon another Soph stepped back and seemed 
anxious to know where they had left their 
“horns” when they came to college. Smith 
timidly asked what he meant, and received for 
an answer that “ cattle ” from the country always 
had horns. Smith replied that he was a “buff¬ 
alo” and did n’t have horns, and later on showed 
said Soph that he was a vigorous kicker if he 
couldn’t hook. 

Another small, black-eyed, black-haired, 
pretty little Soph attracted their attention. He 
said nothing to them but every hair on his aris¬ 
tocratic head seemed to say, procul , procul , 
este , ye Freshmen! Let’s call him Billy. He 
is a great man now, occupies a high position, 
and is a first-rate fellow; glad to meet any of 
the old boys. 

The two Freshmen looked down the line ahead 
and noticed in the Junior class a dark-haired 
man, tall, rather good looking, and modest. 


TOM AND SMITH 


65 

Smith afterward learned that the name of that 
Junior was Isaiah Record. Later he roomed 
opposite him in North College; he further 
learned that Mr. Record was the noblest man 
he ever knew. Conscience in him was the rul¬ 
ing power. Nor was he a cad. 

On one occasion when the faculty, disregard¬ 
ing the wise counsels of the students, employed 
an unregenerate man to cut the grass on the 
campus, the boys sent Somnus to the ivory 
gate and helped the faculty out by cutting the 
grass themselves by moonlight. Every boy 
practiced in that star-pictured gym. that night, 
Record and Barker excepted. Barker unfortu¬ 
nately slept over, and Record stayed in his room 
and interviewed conscience. He reproved no 
one in the matter, and it was all talked over 
before him with perfect freedom. There was 
no pharasaical spirit in him. In after years 
Smith sat by his bedside, with tears coursing 
down his face, received his last farewells, 
and has found less on earth to enjoy ever since. 

A strange circumstance was connected with 
Mr. Record’s funeral. At one commencement, 
Annie Louise Carey sang. In the gallery sat 
Isaiah Record, Rev. A. C. Herrick, Paymaster 
6 


66 


COLBY STORIES 


Barton, U. S. N., and Smith. At the close of 
the concert, the four adjourned to the hotel and 
talked till two o’clock. They were to separate 
next morning. One was going to Japan, one 
to California, Record to Houlton, and Smith to 
Massachusetts. As they parted that night Mr. 
Record said, “When shall we four meet again?” 
One dark day later, the body of Isaiah Record 
lay at rest in a casket, in the vestibule of the 
church at Houlton. Gazing sadly down upon 
those noble features, stood Smith, when upon 
the right and left stepped simultaneously Mr. 
Barton and Mr. Herrick, and as they mutely 
and tearfully clasped hands, they felt they had 
all met again. 

The peculiar laugh of a Soph attracted the 
boys’ attention next. He had a perfect Grecian 
face and a smile that was exhilarating. Some 
one called him Thomas. He was a fine fellow 
and liked a joke. One day the president called 
him up on review in Butler’s Analogy and told 
him to pass on to the “Future Life.” Thomas 
promptly responded, “Not prepared, sir.” 

They noticed a Junior there with a sort of 
Cassius face. He thought too much—about 
his little “girl,” and was quite jealous. So, to 


TOM AND SMITH 


67 


keep guard over her, he sent his chum up one 
winter to teach school in the district where she 
lived. Before the term was over said chum was 
engaged to the fickle fair one. 

The boys did not room together next term. 

Gazing further down the line Smith saw what 
seemed a human head seated on top of a tall 
pole, but a rift in the crowd showed that it was 
a human form divine, but not “divinely fair.” 
He heard “ Mac ” declaim later on in the Chapel 
when he, with his head ad astras, in a sort of 
piping, grunting voice, said—“ It is strange how 
little some people know atfout the stars.” 

Had “Mac” lived in Job’s days he could 
have sung with the “ Morning Stars.” 

While waiting at the church Smith took a 
good look at his classmates. Near him stood 
Seeley,—a harmless little fellow. He had a 
brother in the Sophomore class who was a genius. 
He went up into Aroostook county to farm and 
preach. He was a far better farmer than 
preacher. He made a failure of farming. One 
day he was ploughing on the side of a steep hill 
with a pair of steers. The cattle were untrained 
and he did n’t know how to drive. The steers 
would “turn the yoke,” thus half the time they 


68 


COLBY STORIES 


faced the plow. To prevent this movement he 
tied their tails together, and at noon unyoked 
them thus united a tergo. One started east, 
the other west. For a time action and reaction 
were equal; at last one fell down, the other 
hauled him down the mountain by the adhesive 
force of the caudal vertebrae. 

The sight was inspiring. The bos on -pedes , 
ferens caput altum cornibus , snorting victory 
with every wild le^p; the bos on dorsum , roar¬ 
ing with disgust and marking the dust with his 
horns like Hector’s spear. 

Brother Seeley gazed calmly on the scene 
and gently whispered, “ Descensus Averno 
facile est,” and the next Sabbath took for his 
text—“Be not unequally yoked together.” 

Next to Seeley stood a tall, finely propor¬ 
tioned man who to-day wears the insignia of a 
Major General, U. S. A.,—H. C. Merriam. He 
and Smith were great friends later on ; Merriam 
liked a joke and so did Smith. In those days 
the Junior class doled out an original declamation 
in the Chapel every spring. The other classes 
must attend or be fined ten cents. The whole 
thing was a bore. The night before ’63 spoke, 
Merriam and Smith went down town and “ bor- 


TOM AND SMITH 69 

rowed” from Mr. Merryfield’s back shop a huge 
cloth sign. 

The heraldic emblem on said cloth was a life- 
size picture of an elephant. The boys added 
a legend, reading, “Elephant Show—$.10 
admission,” and nailed the advertisement high 
above the Chapel door. The third-year men 
were not pleased a whit, but the Profs thought 
it a grand good joke. You see, they were not 
in it. 

If the General sees this I hope he will not 
give Smith away. The General was a good 
scholar and wrote poetry sometimes. There 
were two or three more poets in the class. 
They belonged to different schools of poetry. 
David said if he got the rhyme all right, he 
did n’t care for the metre. Harry said if he got 
the metre all right, he did n’t care for the rhyme. 
And Smith also wrote one poetic translation of 
Horace. It was Ode XVI, and here is a speci¬ 
men of it: 


O! bewitching filia, 

Handsomer than your mamma ! 
How could I such an onus prove 
To write Iambics ’bout my love ! 
Burn those verses, every speck; 


70 


COLB Y STORIES 


Dump them in the Kennebec. 

When Prometheus made my head, 

Softer than a loaf of bread, 

In my bosom he put this : 

Vim insani leonis. 

Smith bet the peanuts he would read it in the 
class. Prof. Foster was rash enough to call him 
up on the advance and Smith read the whole 
thing through. 

“ Sit down, young man !” 

Result—Ten mirtus the one. 

Smith never wrote poetry afterwards. 

Near by stood Mayo. He was a very rigid 
man in morals. One night when “ town and 
gown ” were discussing how hard a blow it re¬ 
quired to paralyze the brain, Mayo received a 
severe shock from a club in the hands of a 
“ yager.” He brought up reinforcements and 
threw said “yager” into a muddy pool. The 
“yager” naturally swore. Mayo remarked, 
“Look here, this is a Baptist institution and 
swearing is not allowed. Chuck him in again, 
boys !” And in he went until the profanity was 
all washed out of him. 

A little behind stood Young of Calais. He 
had a witty way of putting things. When Wes- 


TOM AND. SMITH 


71 

ton’s name appeared in the catalogue with a f 
before it, Young said, “Weston must be a 
mighty good man; he bears his cross daily.” 

Just behind Tom stood a girlish-looking boy. 
His name was Littlefield. Studious, talented, 
he carried off most of the honors. He was very 
absent minded. A club of twelve once boarded 
with a lady who frequently reminded them that 
she had seen better days. Before the term was 
over the boys thought they had. Now there 
boarded at the place a very prim lady whose 
age had never been accurately ascertained. Lit¬ 
tlefield sat beside her. One day in the heat 
of argument he placed his arm on the back of 
her chair. She sat up a little primly; he became 
a little excited and proceeded to put his arm 
around her, and soon was emphasizing every 
remark by an unmistakable hug, all unconscious 
that he was disregarding proprieties. Smith 
will never forget the expression on that woman’s 
face. Glorious Littlefield ! The daisies adorn 
his grave to-day. 

“ Green be the turf above thee, friend of my better days.” 

Just here the procession moved on; the two 
boys were lost in the crowd and Smith has 
never emerged therefrom. 


THE FRESHMAN DELUGE 

‘ ‘ Forsan et haec olim me minis se juvabit — Virgil. 

“We cannot buy with gold the old associations.” 

It was late in the afternoon and the light was 
waning. From across the campus in front of 
the college, shot a few lingering beams, feebly 
struggling at a game of hide-and-seek on the 
walls of Champlin Hall. Like over-excited chil¬ 
dren, they seemed reluctant to leave even for a 
night’s repose their classic playground. 

Within, an indefinable restlessness pervaded 
the oblong Greek recitation-room; even the 
marble bust of Aristophanes, on the corner 
bracket, felt the subtle influence, and appeared 
anxious to be off, to give to the world one more 
comedy—that of a typical Freshman Greek 
recitation, for in such an effort he fancied his 
greatest bid for immortality. 

“Nichols !” 

A hurried turning of leaves, and a whispered, 
“Third paragraph on the forty-third page, sec- 


THE FRESHMAN DELUGE 


73 


ond line,” from the seat directly behind him, 
inaugurated the preliminaries of an exceedingly 
free translation, which, perhaps, was eminently 
proper in reading the work of so free an histo¬ 
rian as the author in hand. 

As Nichols painfully arose, a martyr to the 
whimsical notion of an unfeeling professor, 
Reynolds moved anxiously on his end of the 
front settee, at the same moment taking out for 
the who-could-tellth-time his watch. 

“Ten minutes more,” he said slowly to him¬ 
self, accompanied by the monotonous tick, tick,* 
tick ! “ If I’m destined to be hanged I want 

my last moments spent in a recitation-room— 
they’ll never pass ! I haven’t looked at the les¬ 
son, and I knew ’twas my day to be pulled. 
Profess,” he added irreverently, “hasn’t ‘shuf¬ 
fled’ his cards for the month—I’m due Tuesdays 
and Fridays—and I know mine’s at the bottom. 
Did n’t s’pose he’d get ’round to it this after¬ 
noon, though!” , 

He whispered to “Steve” in the seat beside 
him. 

“ Say, old man, get him started on explain¬ 
ing the use of the infinitive after irpLv. He’d be 
on to me if I suggested it, but if you ask him 


74 


COLBY STORIES 


’twill save me from a dead flunk; besides, your 
interest in the subject will score you an x.” 

The last card was in the professor’s hand— 
number twelve was absent—when the bell an¬ 
nouncing the end of the recitation period reluc¬ 
tantly rang. 

The professor quietly closed his “Herodotus,” 
and surreptitiously reached his hand under the 
desk for a “hid treasure.” 

Like the dislodgment of long pent-up debris 
in a swollen current, the class of ’92, on being 
dismissed, rushed headlong from the room. 

Bonney turned as he reached the entrance to 
the Boardman missionary room, perhaps uncon¬ 
sciously restrained by the influence of the place, 
then noticing the diminutive female portion of 
the class hesitating for a moment on the land¬ 
ing, led in a boisterous chorus, “Oh, the co-eds 
they grow small in ’92 ! ” 

Sam was just emerging from South College. 
He stopped, turned his head, listened a mo¬ 
ment, and chuckled, ducking his head the while, 
“Pretty good boys on de whole, only dey don’ 
know what’s spected ob’em.” Then shaking his 
head prophetically, “Dey’ll learn—Soph’mores 
haint all dead by no means; dey’s got one eye 


THE FRESHMAN DELUGE 75 

open ! An’ de ol’ jan’tor, he’s libin,’ an’ jes’ 
got to show dem where dey b ’long.” 

Still chuckling intermittently, he slowly turned 
towards Memorial Hall. Suddenly he stopped. 

In front of North College the ^entire Fresh¬ 
man class had collected. 

“ There’s a baby born in Colby, boys, way back in sixty- 
four ; 

She's thundered for admittance at many a Freshman’s 
door, 

But thanks to God and ’92 she’ll live forevermore, 

For Phi Chi is in her ancient glory.” 

Sam bent almost double with suppressed 
merriment, not unmixed with just surprise. 

“ Dey’ll pay fo’ singin’ dat—mind what de ol’ 
jan’tor tell yo’ ! Gettin’ too fresh.” 

This last was hardly audible, lest the elms 
along the walk should hear it, and silently ac¬ 
cuse him— him, the friend of every Colby stu¬ 
dent—of treason, to the gossiping breeze as it 
loitered by. 

Not a Sophomore appeared. 

“ Brave class, those ninety-oners !” exclaimed 
Nichols ironically. 

“ Better get their co-eds out,” laughed Graves 
in derision. “They’ll show more sand. Say, 


76 


COLBY STORIES 


fellows, let’s go down to the ‘roost’ and sing to 
them.” 

“ Oh, they’re all of a kind—the Sophomores,” 
and Donovan tossed his Greek lexicon over to 
Smith, who was standing on the steps, and 
started down town. 

During supper a hurriedly written note found 
its way under each Sophomore’s door. 

“Meet in Parson’s room at 8 130 sharp,” it 
read. “ Don’t make any noise in the halls.” 

At the appointed time, as a step was heard at 
No. 6, the door softly opened, and a ninety- 
one man glided silently in. 

“Wonder if we are all here,” and Whit, the 
acknowledged leader of the class, took a mental 
inventory of the faces before him. 

“All but Chip; he couldn’t come. Had an 
errand to do for Professor Elder,” and Norman 
had surveyed the crouching forms in the four cor¬ 
ners of the room, before Whit had even reached 
the sofa, in his deliberate calculation. 

“ I suppose, gentlemen, you know the cause 
of our gathering,” and Whit leaned carelessly 
against the book-case. 

“ Better pull down the side curtain a trifle 
lower; any one can see in just like a fly,” sug- 


THE FRESHMAN DELUGE 77 

gested Luce, pointing to an uncovered space in 
the lower lights of the east window. 

“ Probably because we decided not to ob¬ 
serve Bloody Monday, and discussed the advis¬ 
ability of discontinuing the False Orders, the 
Freshmen think we’re dead game. All along 
they’ve been growing bolder, and this afternoon, 
as you know, they reached the end of their 
rope. If two thirds of the class had been here 
—well, some one would have paid the fiddler, 
and I’ll be willing to wager’t would be the ones 
that did the dancing. 

“ They knew most of our fellows were down 
town, so their singing Phi Chi, and giving 
the Sophomore yell, did n’t show a great 
amount of unpremeditated bravery.” 

“It’s high time they were taught a thing or 
two,” interrupted Luce emphatically. “ What’d 
we better do ? ” 

The discussion was long and animated. 

“ Give them a sufficient dose this time, and a 
second application won’t be necessary. I be¬ 
lieve in doing the kill-or-cure act at the appear¬ 
ance of the first symptoms,” and Morse, as 
though to further his argument, brought his 
hand down vigorously on Gorham’s shoulder. 


78 


CO'LB Y STORIES 


“ Gad, man, I ’m not a Fresh ! ” 

Before leaving the room a plan was decided 
on, a “ water cure ” being the remedy pre¬ 
scribed. 

“ I wonder if we all understand.' We don’t 
want any bungling in the matter—’t would spoil 
the whole thing. You’re all to get ready the 
minute the squad leader raps. By the way, 
you’d better not lock your doors—perhaps it 
might occasion, less noise, and, on the whole, 
be safer for us.” 

Whit took out his memorandum. 

“You have the first squad, Luce,—first two 
floors of the north end of North College. Gor¬ 
ham, you have the third and fourth floors. 
First and second floors, south end, are yours, 
Mugg; you have the other two, Dick. 

“ Now for South College. I ’ll take all the 
north end,” and Whit looked around to see if 
all his men were there. “ The south end, first 
two floors, are Watson’s, the other two are 
yours, Bassett. Now I imagine everything is 
clear.” 

“ Don’t make the slightest noise getting to 
the river,” cautioned Foster, as he arose from 
his cramped position on the dictionary. “ And 


THE FRESHMAN DELUGE 79 

be sure to have the pails where you can lay 
your hands on them in an instant.” 

“ Better go out singly,” suggested Mathews, 
with one hand on the door knob. “If we should 
be seen together it might create suspicion.” 

“Twelve o’clock, sharp!” and Whit threw 
himself down on the sofa. 

“ They’ll sing, ‘We’ll hang our clothes on a 
hickory limb,’ in the morning,” he laughed. 

At midnight the historic Boardman willows, 
forming a graceful avenue down to the Kenne¬ 
bec, guarded on either side a strange procession, 
separated by fives nnto individual squads, each 
one a few feet ahead of that immediately follow¬ 
ing. 

If it were not for the dissimilarity in costume, 
from the pails they carried one might judge 
them to be an ocean steamer’s fire brigade out 
on practice duty. 

Quietly they formed in line at the water’s 
edge, and silently filled their pails from the 
flowing stream. 

“My! it’s cold, though,” whispered Gor¬ 
ham, as he slipped on a smooth pebble, thus 
plunging his arm to the elbow into the moving 
current. 


8 o 


COLBY STORIES 


“ The colder the better for swelled heads,” 
chuckled Luce. “Mighty fine for that kind of 
inflammation ! ” 

The procession was not long in ‘ re-forming, 
and silently, like Druids of old, marched slowly 
up the path, under the overhanging willow 
branches, that fell like a benediction over the 
determined men. Who can say that they did n’t 
show their sympathy for the vindication of 
Sophomoric rights ! 

At the rear of Champlin Hall the procession 
parted, one division cautiously working its way 
around North College; the other moving grue- 
somely towards the sister dormitory. 

“Be careful of noise in the halls,” came the 
whispered command from Whit. “ Every squad 
wait by each Freshman’s door till I give the 
signal—then down she goes, and let them have 
it full blast before they ’re fairly awake.” 

He hurried over to North College with the 
same order. 

In a few moments all was ready; each was in 
his place. The suppressed excitement in the 
little groups could hardly be restrained. 

“We’ll fix ’em! ” 


7'HE FRESHMAN DELUGE 


8 l 


“ S-s-s-h-h ! Not so loud,” and Foster laid 
a cautioning hand on Luce’s shoulder. 

The signal was given. 

Crash! went the doors. In rushed the 
Sophomores, . each with a pail poised aloft in 
his hands. 

“ Aim for their heads ! ” was the order. 

Not a Freshman moved. 

“ Quick ! ” cried the leader. 

One, two, three, four, five pails, full to the 
brim, were dashed in rapid succession upon the 
sleeping occupants—not a Freshman escaped. 

Smothered gasps only, were heard from some ; 
others broke out with—well, not what was 
learned in the days of “ Mother Goose,” or from 
the family catechism. 

Without a word the midnight guests passed 
noiselessly into the halls. Not a Freshman ap¬ 
peared, for fear by so doing of meeting a still 
more startling surprise. 

“ There’s moisture in the college, boys,” 
hummed the Sophomores, as they quietly re¬ 
turned to their rooms, and the moon smiled 
approval behind a cloud. 

The Kennebec gurgled gleefully over the 
falls, and never missed the water that the next 


7 


§2 


COLBY STORIES 


day’s sun absorbed from the bedding that hung 
so conspicuously from many a Freshman’s win¬ 
dow. 

“Dey all look limp’s de bed-clo’s,” chuckled 
Sam, mischievously, the next morning at the 
chapel entrance, as the Freshmen went mince- 
ingly in to prayers. “What’d de ol’ jan’tor 
tell yo’! ” 


ABE ” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 


“Abe” had arrived on the afternoon express 
to attend commencement exercises, and on the 
following day to be present at his class reunion. 
He had wandered up about the college at eve¬ 
ning time, finally into old South to hunt up the 
room in which he and “ Bottle ” had spent four 
happy years, in the days gone by; and having 
found the door with the split panel (ho matter 
how it happened to get split), behind which 
many a “ happy old time ” as “ Abe ” branded 
them , had taken place, he rapped and was ad¬ 
mitted. Within he found a crowd of some 
eight men, indulging in a little game of whist; 
a few bottles (contents, rare!), but empty, as 
“ Abe ” soon discovered, rolled around on the 
floor, the room full of smoke of the eight black 
pipes—looking, as “Abe” vowed, “pretty 
much like them days of seventy-blank.” 

The boys tossed aside the cards as the 
stranger entered ; one proffered a chair, another 


8 4 


COLBY STORIES 


a cigar—both of which were thankfully accepted 
—then all fell to firing questions at the old grad. 

“Call me ‘Abe,’ boys; that sounds more 
like the old days.” 

“Well, ‘Abe’ it is, then,” said Hawthorne, 
picking up a guitar. “I ’ve heard my father tell 
of those old days and sing their praises, too. 
He never encouraged me to get into some of the 
ways you fellows trod. He must have entered 
along about the time you got your sheep-skin. 
I wish, often-times, the old days were here 
again ! ” 

Swift reached over and took the guitar from 
Hawthorne’s lap. Striking a chord or two he 
sang sweet and low: 

“ Once in the dear, dead days beyond recall, 

When on the world the mists began to fall.” 

“Abe” got up, went over to a black case 
leaning against the desk, unstrapped it and 
revealed a brand new violin that Perkins of 
eighty-blank had recently purchased. He 
drew the bow softly across the strings a few 
times, tightened one key, loosened another— 
the boys looking on the while—then carelessly 
swung off into a beautiful anthem he had picked 


“ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 85 

up while in college. The boys listened breath¬ 
lessly till he had finished. There was some¬ 
thing about “Abe’s” playing, so careless, yet 
so clear, sweet, that the anthem was only an 
appetizer. 

“ Oh ! go on, boys,” cried “ Abe” desperate¬ 
ly, “ that’s all guff; why, you can all beat me, 
hands down. Put the thing up, I say; I could 
play once, but it’s no use now. In all my col¬ 
lege course I could n’t draw an X to save my 
life, but when it came to violin-playing and tell¬ 
ing stories there were mighty few of them to 
hold a candle-stick to me.” 

“ Well, then,” said Aldrich, stretching out 
his long body on the couch, “ if we can’t have 
the fiddler we must have the fiddler’s song,”— 
a quotation of his own. Aldrich was original, 
—it stopped there. 

“ That’s right, give us the stories.” Chorus. 

“ Abe ” slid down into his chair till his 
elbows rested on its arms, crossed his legs mid¬ 
way of the floor, puffed a few times at his cigar, 
then began. 

“ Of course you fellows have heard of stiff 
old Prexy Champlin. Well, the best story 
the boys told on him, which they did pretty 


86 


COLBY STORIES 


often, was the one at the time he unbended 
his straight old back, and deigned to speak 
to his nearest neighbor. It was just after a 
heavy rain, the lightning and wind having 
played havoc with the whole neighborhood, 
when the doctor as he saw it clear up, came out 
of his house and started for the college. An 
aged farmer, who lived next door to the punc¬ 
tilious president, stood leaning against his front 
fence, calmly smoking his black T. D., and the 
while feeding his cow by the roadside. To 
the old farmer the doctor thus addressed him¬ 
self : 

“ ‘ Fellow neighbor,’ he began, in a basso 
voice, dignified air, ‘ this has been a tempes¬ 
tuous downpour and an extremely annoying and 
terrifying onset in the ethereal sky above us.’ 

“ Neighbor Hitch took out his black T. D., 
spilt the ashes on the rail fence, looked quizzi¬ 
cally up at the doctor, then at the heavens, and 
finally said,—‘ Wa-al, ye-es, neighbor,—ye-es, 

you ’re right; this ere has been a d-heavy 

rain.’ ” 

Scott laughed and counted “ One.” York 
drew his fingertips unconsciously across the 
strings of his mandolin, and sank into a chair— 


























































































“ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 87 

laughing. Scott could laugh and appreciate a 
joke, though he was a crammer. 

“ Never shall forget the one we told on 
Dodge,” continued “Abe.” “Dodge was a 
hunchback and the most laughable fellow that 
breathed. One day in rhetoric Prof. Johnnie 
held forth on the subject of choosing words to 
fit the thought. ‘ Why,’ he expounded, ‘ a man 
should grovel on the floor till he can find the 
word he wants, rather than use a wrong one.’ 
A few minutes later he called on Dodge to 
recite on ‘ Laws of Division.’ Dodge punched 
me when he got up, and I knew the devil was 
afoul of him. He began in a piping voice: 

“ ‘ Seek to find the distinctions wholly in the 
nature of the idea, and beware of fanciful analo¬ 
gies or arbitrary—’ He stopped sudden; an¬ 
other fierce kick on my shins. ‘ Arbitrary—, 
arbitrary—’ he repeated thoughtfully. He 
shifted his weight to the right foot, and again I 
got a kick from his left. What in blazes he 
was up to was beyond me, so I gave him more 
room and sat as glum as you please. But you 
may judge of my surprise when presently that 
hunchback Dodge gave me a parting salute, 
broad-jumped the seat directly in front of us, 


88 


COLBY STORIES 


landed lightly on his hump, before the desk of 
the terrified Prof., and then !—Why, boys, talk 
about circus tumbling ! Those fellows were n’t 
in it a minute with Dodge. Fact was, you 
could n’t see him. ’T was first hump, then 
shoes, then head. Well, he kept that sort of 
thing up for full three minutes till everybody 
thought him crazy mad, when the wise and 
now cool-headed Johnnie remarked : ‘ Keep on 

groveling, Mr. Dodge, you ’ll get it yet!’ 

“ Dodge rolled back on his hump, leaped to 
his seat as lightly as a cat, and then as cool and 
collected as a pitcher in the ninth inning of a 
tie game he resumed his former position and 
continued, ‘—arbitrary preconceptions of sym¬ 
metry of the subject,’ and sat down. 

“ Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Well, do you know, boys, 
that old hard-shelled, sober-faced Baptist Prof, 
could n’t hold in to save his life, and he laughed 
and laughed and laughed, and finally he saw it 
was no use and blurted out ‘Excused.’ Dodge 
was a corker, no mistake.” 

“Fat” Lewis pushed open the door. 

“‘Fat’ Lewis,” said Aldrich, “this is just 
‘ Abe ’ of the seventies.” 

“Fat,” said “Abe,” rising and laughing. 


“ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 89 

“Just Abe,” replied “Fat,” clasping hands. 

“You want to take the quotient after divid- 
ing by two of these yarns of the men of the 
seventies,” said Lewis. 

“And never append ‘Just’ before their 
names,” added the old grad. 

“ Sit down, Lewis,” said Alden, “ ‘ Abe ’ is 
having his inning now. You had yours last 
fall, you know.” 

Alden referred to the grandstand-play “ Fat” 
made in the Colby-Bowdoin game. 

“Great play, that,” came from Aldrich. 

“ Yankety, yank, why ! What’s the score? 

Bowdoin’s down, sir—oh, my ! Six to four! 

O-O-O-H ! MY ! Who did that? 

(All) WH-Y-Y ‘FAT!’ DID THAT!!" 

“ Shut up,” said “ Fat,” when Aldrich finish¬ 
ed the cry. “ Let by-gones be by-gones.” 

“ ’Nuff said,” and Aldrich dodged a book. 

All eyes were turned on “Abe” again. 

“ Did you ever hear about ‘ French Leave?’ ” 
he began. “No? Well it was a good joke, 
well executed. It happened in the summer 
along about ’7-. It was spoken of as the mys¬ 
terious disappearance of Le Cid—not the Cam- 


9° 


COLBY STORIES 


peador in his proper person, but Corneille’s 
play celebrating his adventures. 

“ One of the classes was reading Le Cid that 
term. It so fell out upon a day that the imp 
of mischief inspired two of his votaries with the 
notion that it would be a capital joke to steal 
the books and so get a ‘ cut.’ Steal is not the 
word. A Jico for the phrase! Convey the 
wise call it, quoth ancient Pistol. They meant 
temporarily to abstract the books for the gen¬ 
eral good. ’T was kept pretty close home, you 
may know. The plot was so well laid and ex¬ 
ecuted that by the next recitation every book 
had vanished, nobody knew where. Well, the 
bell rang, the class filed into recitation, minus 
books, minus lessons. 

“‘What does this mean?’ demanded the 
good old Prof, sternly. He had heard three 
straight flunks. 

“‘No book!’ ‘Book gone!’ ‘Lost my 
book!’ ‘Book stolen!’ came a chorus of 
answers. Some the old Prof, did n’t hear, such 
as ‘ Book swiped !’ ‘ Flew the coop !’ ‘Up the 
stump !’ etc., etc., etc. 

“ When the state of the case became fully 
known Prof. Blank was highly indignant. ‘ It 


“ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 91 

is an outrage ! ’ he cried ‘ a mean, low, witless, 
and criminal performance. It is an offence 
against not only the college, but the state. If 
these perpetrators are discovered, they should 
not be allowed to remain in college over night. 
It is larceny, gentlemen, larceny, and those who 
have lost their books have ground to institute a 
criminal prosecution, and I advise you to go 
ahead.’ 

“ The guilty two looked perfect innocence. 
They appeared deeply interested in all that the 
Prof, said, and now and again nodded heads in 
approval. ‘ Prof, is right, just right,’ said the 
kidnappers of the Cid as soon as the class was 
dismissed. 

The two circulated about, discussing the mat¬ 
ter, expressing a proper sense of its enormity, 
and advising that a proper investigation be 
made. The class agreed, crammers leading, 
and the remarkable thing about the procedure 
was that the very two who abstracted the books 
were made a committee of two to wait upon the 
Prof, and ask him to lay the matter before the 
faculty. With grave mien the committee attend¬ 
ed to its duty. They represented that the class 
was of one mind, namely: that the outrage 


9 2 


COLBY STORIES 


should be investigated and the culprits detected 
and punished without fear or favor. They said 
in a solemn voice, ‘ Can’t the matter be brought 
before the faculty, sir?’ 

“‘Gentlemen,’ replied the dignitary taking 
off one pair of nose glasses, and scratching his 
head slowly, ‘What’s the clue? It will be of 
little use to bring the matter before us unless 
there is some clue. Think of a clue, gentle¬ 
men, think of a clue.’ 

“‘Clue and be hanged!’ said the first kid¬ 
napper softly to the second. ‘ The faculty be 
hanged ! ’ whispered second to first. 

“ The committee reported to the class, and 
the matter was dropped. Two days later Sam 
opened the Chapel door. ‘Fo’ de Lawd 
Massy! ’ he exclaimed, ‘ dat am de case eb’ry- 
time; de los’ am always hid in de open.’ 
Well, sir, nobody outside of those two know 
to-day who the kidnappers were.” 

“How’s that?” asked Aldrich, looking 
sharply with half closed eyes at “Abe.” 
“ That’s a fact, sir, sure’s you’re born,” added 
the old grad, convincingly. 

“ Well, then,” queried Swift, “ how in Jehos- 
haphat did you happen to know so much about 
it, unless-” 



U ABE ” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 93 

“Say,” said “Abe” slowly, “that cigar I 
just finished was a corker.” 

The boys all laughed when they saw how 
badly poor “Abe” had slumped. 

“ I got what you could call actually mad just 
once while I was in college,” continued “ Abe,” 
lighting a second cigar that A1 gave him. 

“ How’s that? ” asked Bobs waking up from 
a long snooze. “ Those stories you are telling 
are peaches. Ought to be chronicled, sure 
thing! Wish they were in a book,” and 
Bobs dropped off to sleep again. 

“ It must have been in the spring of ’ 7 - that 
the great Sophomore cremation of mathematics 
took place. Doubtless burnt offerings of calcu¬ 
lus, analytical geometry and all that tribe had 
been made before, and have since been offered 
up, but in the decade of the seventies, at least, 
no affair of the kind approached in celebrity 
the one of which I am speaking. It is amusing, 
boys, to look back upon, but at the time it was 
taken pretty seriously by those most concerned. 

“ After the mathematical studies had been 
finished some suggested that it would be the 
most proper thing in the world to take the 
books and burn them ceremoniously. I was 


94 


COLBY S TO RIBS 


mightily in favor of it—I got cut out first term 
of Fresh, year. Interest lagged at first until it 
came out that the men of first-year were plan¬ 
ning something of the sort on their own hook. 
Then interest took a brace, fellows woke up, 
things became lively. The wind had just got 
to be taken out of their sails. Committees were 
formed and arrangements were made in hot 
haste. Two men worked a good part of the 
next Sunday in a Fairfield job printing office, 
supervising the getting out of posters and pro¬ 
grams. I ’ve one of those programs now. It 
is not a masterpiece of the art preservative, but 
it set forth the case with a sufficient elaboration 
of ghastliness. The pages were deeply bor¬ 
dered with black, and ornamented with coffin 
lids. In more or less correct Latin the docu¬ 
ment announced something as follows: 

“ ‘ CONCREMATIS. 

“ ‘ Classis. VI Calendas Maias.’ 

“ And as a sort of explanation, or justi¬ 
fication, this solemn statement appeared: 
Magnus liber, magnum malum. The -pomfa 
ftmebris consisted of dux , sacerdos, taedarum 
geruli lecticarii , more leclicarii and taeda- 


U ABE ” OE SEVENTY-BLANK $$ 

rum geruli , qui princeps ftinis exscquitur 
and quifunus exscquitur, ending up with the 
vulgus. For the information of the latter the 
particulars as to the time and route of the pro¬ 
cession were given in English. The various 
odes written to be sung on the occasion, to 
such airs as ‘ Auld Lang Syne,’ ‘Shall We 
Gather at the River,’ and ‘Annie Lisle,’ were 
given, and after ‘ Consolation to mourning 
friends by the Priest,’ this maddening quotation 
appeared: 

“ ‘ The differential of any power of a function 
is equal to the exponent multiplied by the func¬ 
tion raised to a power less one, multiplied by 
the differential of the function.’ 

“ Monday morning discovered the posters 
nailed to trees, posts, and bill-boards every¬ 
where. They caused a great sensation, espe¬ 
cially among the men of first-year, whose fun 
was up. The Sophs could n’t help that. They 
were mighty sorry to have interfered, and had 
they known—but anyhow they would offer 
commiseration and—grin up their sleeves. 

“ Meanwhile preparations went on apace. 
Appropriate costumes were designed, the local 
brass band hired, and a member of the class, 


9 6 


COLBY STORIES 


the son of a professor and since a missionary 
on the other side of the world, being handy 
with carpenter’s tools, was commissioned to 
make the coffin and bier. 

“ On the afternoon of the great day a funeral 
pile was built on the upper part of the campus, 
where now is the athletic field. It was then a 
cow pasture. Driftwood from the river, fence 
rails, boxes, and what-not furnished the mate¬ 
rial, and altogether it took over a cord of wood. 
We felt pretty sure first-year men would 
attempt revenge. They had shown their teeth 
several times that day, so a guard of upper¬ 
classmen was enlisted to keep watch while the 
procession was down town. 

“ Well, it was about nine o’clock in the eve¬ 
ning when the parade was formed without mis¬ 
hap, and moved through the main streets ac¬ 
cording to program. That was a memor¬ 
able night for staid and quiet Waterville. 
‘ Big ’ Allen carried a baton and led off, the 
band came next, then the black bier of books 
and the class, two abreast, with torches and 
standards of appropriate lettering, followed. To 
the music of dirges the lecticarii , gernli , and 
others stepped solemnly elate and congratulated 


“ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 97 

themselves on the booming success of their 
show. The thing was going on as merrily as 
anything so mournful could be expected to go. 

“ We turned up College Avenue on the return 
march. The first thing we saw was a mighty 
sheet of flame rise into the heavens. A dread¬ 
ful thought gripped our hearts. The rumor 
ran along the line that the smart Freshies had 
stolen a march and fired our pile prematurely. 

“ At the campus our crowd was met by 
those babies of first-year and their allies 
armed with fish-horns. Then a bray of horns 
and shrieks like the wicked Saracens of old 
ensued. The racket, kept up during the re¬ 
mainder of the exercises, was so terrific that 
the band was completely drowned and panto¬ 
mime had to take the place of speech. 

“ It appeared that while the procession was 
marching, the guards either proved faithless to 
their trust or were lured away. When the 
remains of the burning pile were reached, the 
coffin containing the corpses of the condemned 
books was flung upon the embers, and with 
the help of Sam’s kerosene can was consumed. 

“I tell you, boys, we fellows were hot. 
Triumph had been turned into defeat, and the 
8 


COLBY STORIES 


98 

revenge of the enemy was complete. By¬ 
standers did not perhaps perceive any differ¬ 
ence, but the fact was that the untoward event 
threw the remaining exercises into confusion' 
and cut them short—too short. Cast down in 
spirit though outwardly calm we mourners 
withdrew from the scene, pursued by the mad¬ 
dening bray of horns, and assembled in one of 
the rooms to relieve our feelings and discuss 
ways and means. 

“ We packed in thirty strong, and the 
schemes of retaliation rolled out sixty per min¬ 
ute. I proposed tying the whole blank crowd 
together and dragging them over the city. All 
agreed. Then some one sang out, ‘Tar and 
feather them all agreed. ‘ Stack their rooms,’ 
yelled a third ; ‘ that’s the checker.’ Again all 
agreed. 

“ Gilbert said things about seventy-blank 
men that would n’t look well in print; Pierson 
swore he would have revenge if he got fired for 
it; ‘ Short ’ Parker jumped upon a table, knocked 
over the ink-bottle, crushed the pen to smither¬ 
eens and said he did n’t think but a blank little 
of such a blank class to do such a blankety- 
blank-blank, open-doored, measly trick as they 


“ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 99 

had, and to have a gibbet’s rope around their 
necks was none too good for them. * I do n’t 
give a rip for the faculty; I’m in favor of hang¬ 
ing a millstone about their necks and throwing 
them into the Kennebec—the whole blank posse 
of them,’ he declared, ‘ and the sooner they ’re 
in, the better for humanity—and the worse for 
the water.’ I opened the door and stalked out. 
I was just about as mad as a mad man can be. 
I believed then and there that I could wallop 
about any man that lived. I went down the 
stairs and out upon the campus where there 
was a knot of first-year men, and posting myself 
in an elevated place expressed my opinion of 
them in mighty plain terms and challenged the 
whole class to single combat. 

“The challenge wasn’t accepted. But we 
put them up, one and all, and I never enjoyed 
spanking any more than I did that night. 
Those days, I hear, are not yet over,—well, 
don’t go back on the old days entirely. Peo¬ 
ple tell you hazing is out of style, borders on 
the ‘barbaric’, and all that sort of thing. Well, 
believe it if you choose. I tell you what, I’m 
no exponent of the old style hazing, but I can 
count you twenty-five boys whom a pail of 

LofC. 


IOO 


COLBY STORIES 


water and a spanking helped to make men. 
What are you to do when a man comes to col¬ 
lege, swells around, bosses Sam, and owns the 
earth generally? Just get a big pail of water, 
perch in the fourth story of old South and 
when the white shirt, stand up collar, goggles 
and cane come swinging around the corner, let 
go ! If that does n’t settle matters, call on him 
the next night , just before he goes calling, and 
during the course of your conversation tell him 
what may be rightfully expected of all first- 
year men; then to clinch matters ask him to 
sing ‘Rally ’Round the Flag,’ to sit on the 
wash bowl and ‘ row across the briny deep,’ 
—and I ’ll guarantee all this ‘ to cure or kill’ 
nine cases out of ten,—yes, and best of all, the 
fellows will thank you for it years afterward. 
No, boys, do n’t go back on the’old days entirely 
—the happiest days of my whole life. You men 
who are going out will say the same thirty 
years hence,—ponder upon all the happenings 
inside the old Bricks, recall the boys,—God 
bless them !—long to live the old days all over 
again.” 

The old grad, ceased talking, and a long 
silence which no one in the room seemed dis^ 


ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 


IOI 


posed to break followed. Bobs snored loudly, 
rolled over, and woke up. Poor Bobs ! All 
tired out from last evening’s Senior Hop. He 
sat upright, rubbed his eyes, yawned, looked 
sheepishly into one countenance, then another, 
and finally asked, “What time are you, Al?” 

Aldrich looked at his watch : “ Well, Bobs, 
it’s going on for eleven-thirty.” 

“ Good night, ‘ Abe,’ ” said Bobs, fumbling 
for the door-knob, “ good night, boys.” 

“ Good night, old man,” came the chorus.” 

“ Abe ” smiled a little at the sound of his 
old college name. 

Bobs led the procession that finally emptied 
the room, excepting Aldrich and “Abe,”— 
Alden, Hawthorne, Swift, Scott, York, following 
him. 

“ Do n’t hurry,” said Aldrich, as “ Abe ” 
rose to go, “ this is early, yet. Here for com¬ 
mencement? ” 

“ Yes, and class reunion. I shall meet your 
father here tomorrow.” “Abe ” laughed lightly. 

“You know my father, then?” 

“Fairly well, fairly well,” answered “Abe,” 
with a chuckle, “we bunked in this same room 
for four years, my boy.” 


102 


COLBY STORIES 


“ You—why, you bunked with my father ! 
Mistake, you’ve made a mistake, sir. My 
name is Aldrich ; my father’s name is Llewellyn 
H. Aldrich. His room-mate was Judge Her¬ 
bert Alexander of the supreme court of—” 

“Quite right, young man, quite right; that 
individual is before you. My card. Your 
father was a loyal .Xi Delta Psi man like myself. 
Did n’t I see one of our pins on your waist¬ 
coat? ” Judge Alexander stretched forth his two 
hands and gave Aldrich the grip. Poor A1 was 
more amazed than Bobs was a few minutes 
before. 

“ Why—this cant be the man my father 
expects to meet tomorrow! Judge Alexander 
—supreme court—tall, spare—* Abe Lincoln ’ 
they called him,—‘ Abe ’—Xi Delta Psi man— 
great violinist in college—By George! But 
this evening—why, we had n’t any idea ’t was 
you—and the fellows—thunder and lightning ! 
Here, Scott, Alden—come up,—bring the 
rest, fellows!” 

Scott appeared in the doorway, minus shirt, 
minus stockings, clinging to his breeches; Alden 
peered into the room and yelled, “ Now, what 
the devil is up?” And then others came, clad 


“ABE” OF SEVENTY-BLANK 103 

much after the style of Scott—if not one bet¬ 
ter. 

“ Boys,” said Al, excitedly, “ I want you to 
meet my father’s closest friend, not ‘ Abe,’ but, 
as we have heard him spoken of, Brother Judge 

Herbert Alexander of- 

After the fellows had gone again, the judge 
having expressed the desire to bunk with Al 
that night, “ anywhere if only within these 
walls,” the young and old of Xi Delta Psi 
bunked together. When the morning had 
come, and the judge had arisen, donned his 
tall silk hat, black suit, then Al felt sorry for 
the indifference of the boys the evening before 
towards this distinguished western jurist. 

“Judge, you must pardon us for last night. 
We had no idea that it was you, and—” 

“ Now, young man,” answered Judge Alex¬ 
ander, good naturedly, “ no more of these 
wretched excuses. The evidence is all against 
you. I wanted you to receive me in the old 
ways; I was careful not to tell my name, you 
know. It did me more good to be welcomed 
as I was, to be called ‘Abe,’ to hear that ‘ Bobs ’ 
of yours—and many’s the time I’ve been as 
sleepy as he—tell me he wished my stories 



COLBY STORIES 


IO4 

were in a book—in short, to live those grand 
old days over again,—than be on a $50,000 
case and win it. I tell you what, young man, 
the happiest moments of a man’s life are when 
he lives and acts as God made him to live and 
act—naturally. College life makes a man nat¬ 
ural ; that is why a college man is so happy; 
that is why I long for those days of seventy- 
blank, and that is why I enjoyed last night bet¬ 
ter than any night I have lived for thirty years. 
Be a gentleman, but be natural! ” 

And the judge, on his way to the Frat house 
for a breakfast with Al, tried to breathe again 
the fragrance of the sweet lilies in the great 
meadow, of the blossoms of early spring, he 
had breathed long ago in seventy-blank. 


A CURE FOR NERVOUSNESS 


It was the night of the Freshman reading. 
The church was packed with the beauty and 
chivalry of Waterville’s upper eight thousand, 
ostensibly, of course, to hear the Freshmen 
read, but really in the ardent hope of seeing a 
fight between the Sophomores and Freshmen, 
or at least some disturbance of the exercises. 

When something does happen that wasn’t 
provided for on the program these good towns¬ 
folk are loud-spoken in saying that the thing 
was scandalous and in hoping that the presi¬ 
dent and faculty will punish the offenders; but 
in their heart of hearts they would n’t have 
missed it for anything, and go to the reading 
the next year hoping to see something like it 
again. 

This year the friction between the two lower 
classes had been decidedly warm, and rumors 
were flying in flocks concerning the deep 
machinations of the Sophomores in regard to 


io 6 


COLBY STORIES 


this critical evening. It is true that the presi¬ 
dent had warned the Sophomores that no dis¬ 
turbances should be brought into the church, 
but warnings are often forgotten, and many a 
Freshman felt a vague apprehension of being, 
at any moment, blown through the roof from a 
mine in the cellar. All over the house fluttered 
copies of the War Cry —for those were the 
days when the discovery had not been made 
that this publication was not necessary to the 
honor of a Sophomore class—and the poor vic¬ 
tims ground their teeth as they read their 
“ roasts ” and vowed a bitter vengeance the fol¬ 
lowing year. The audience fidgeted in their 
seats, the Freshmen ushers strode through the 
aisles trying not to appear conscious and green 
at the business, and the speakers themselves 
sat in their pews nervously whispering and 
laughing in the poor attempt to seem confident 
and at ease. It was for all an atmosphere of 
nervous expectation. 

One of the speakers, Richard Curtis, could 
not have appeared more doleful if he were soon 
to be burned at the stake. He had gone into 
the trial readings from a sense of duty to his 
family and his fraternity, had done his best, and 


A CURE FOR NER VO US NESS 107 

to his great surprise was appointed. His ap¬ 
pointment was a surprise to a great many others 
also because one who was reckoned a sure man 
for a place was not appointed at all. This was 
Harris, a youth of speech-making ambitions,— 
one of those men who take up all the time in 
class-meetings,—and it is not surprising that he 
felt his disappointment keenly. The unfortu¬ 
nate part of the affair was that he did not know 
enough at least to keep his mouth shut, but 
went about confiding his sorrows everywhere 
and hinting darkly at favoritism in the judging 
committee as the reason for Curtis’s appoint¬ 
ment. This spirit deepened into a settled 
grudge against Curtis himself, shown forth by 
many ill-natured remarks and mean insinuations. 
Some of this was reflected in the War Cry , for 
its editor belonged to the same fraternity as 
Harris, and as a Freshman feels sorely the 
slings and arrows of an outrageous War Cry , 
the abuse that Curtis found shoveled upon him 
heaped high his load of care till he felt he could 
never raise his head again, and gave him that 
look of misery already hinted at. 

In the first place, he had spoken in public 
but once before—when he graduated from the 


108 COLBY STORIES 

Academy, and on that dreadful night he had 
felt the exquisite torture of forgetting in the 
middle of his essay and of having to stand a 
full minute and a half in awful silence. With 
this cheering experience, Curtis felt positive 
that he shouldn’t remember a word when he 
reached the platform—and his spirits sank to 
the lowest circles of the Inferno at the very 
thought. In short, the boy was at the fog end 
of weeks of wrong and was in no state of mind 
for a prize exhibition. 

His chum and room-mate, Bennett, who sat 
next to him, was an oldtimer on the platform. 
He had taken part in Academy debates, won 
prizes in speaking contests, and was generally 
admitted to be probable winner of the first prize 
in this evening’s exhibition. He had labored 
faithfully with his friend, coaching and encour¬ 
aging him as best he could, but now the only 
response to an encouraging word was a misera¬ 
ble shake of the head and the groan— 

“Oh! I know I shall flunk—I wish I was 
dead ! ” 

Bennett, to divert his mind, called his atten¬ 
tion to Harris (who happened to be head-usher 
and who seemed to have become remarkably 


A CURE FOR NERVOUSNESS 109 

absent-minded about his duties that evening), 
as he tried to put a family of four into a pew 
with barely two sittings left. Just then the 
president and the chaplain entered upon the 
platform from the little door at the left, sat 
down with grave dignity in the high-backed 
chairs on opposite sides,—and simultaneously 
crossed their legs. At this signal the orchestra 
hit up a lively two-step, but Curtis, as he 
reflected that he was the first on the program, 
felt a horrible sinking feeling in the neighbor¬ 
hood of his diaphragm and would have thanked 
some one to shoot him and put him out of his 
misery. 

At the close of the two-step the chaplain 
arose and delivered the prayer,—the prayer 
which varies not through all the exhibitions of 
the college year and all the changes of chap¬ 
lains. It is one of those prayers in which no¬ 
body’s interests are neglected and therefore 
eminently satisfactory. Blessings are first called 
for upon the college, then individual mercies 
upon the personnel of the faculty and board of 
trustees, then upon the student body “ and all 
their friends gathered together in this assembly.” 
Next the Institute and High School are recom- 


no 


COLBY STORIES 


mended to the attention of the Omnipresent, 
and then the chaplain’s heart broadens suddenly 
and he calls for blessings on all educational in¬ 
stitutions in the country. As a final favor the 
chaplain asks that “ presence of mind and sure¬ 
ness of memory may be bestowed upon the 
participants in this evening’s exercises.” 

“Lest we forget,—lest we forget,” groaned 
Curtis in fervent response, while Bennett for the 
tenth time admonished him to brace up. 

The prayer is generally followed by a lan¬ 
guishing serenade from the orchestra, but Cur¬ 
tis could not have told you. whether they played 
anything at all; he heard nothing till the an¬ 
nouncement, “ Mr. Curtis,” fell on his ears like 
the call to execution. 

Then the forlorn creature stumbled out of 
his pew and marched to the choir without a 
thought in his head and with cold terror in his 
heart. 

Those who have taken part in college exhi¬ 
bitions will remember the pair of steps leading 
from the choir to the platform. As Curtis 
placed his foot on the second step, to his hor¬ 
ror, it went through the strip of carpeting,— 
down, with a painful scraping of his shin, into 


A CURE FOR NERVOUSNESS 


III 


something soft, and he fell sprawling on his 
hands over the edge of the platform. Those 
on the floor of the house heard the fall but 
could see little ; but in the galleries, which com¬ 
manded a view of the choir curtain, there was 
an amused smile on every face and much 
stretching of necks. This increased to a ripple 
of laughter as Curtis picked himself up, draw¬ 
ing the unlucky foot out of the trap and tear¬ 
ing his trouser-leg in several places at once 
on some ugly nails evidently put there for 
the purpose,—exhibiting to his unspeakable 
horror a foot and leg covered with green 
paint. 

At the sound of the laughter in the galleries 
several young women in the back of the house 
jumped to their feet and strained their eyes 
nearly out of their sockets in the excitement of 
the moment and their anxiety not to miss the 
fun. 

A great wave of wrath poured over the soul 
of the poor victim and swept away every trace 
of his nervous fear. 

“ They think they ’ll keep me from speaking, 
do they,” he thought to himself savagely. 
“Not if I know myself!” And in a moment 


11 2 


COLBY STORIES 


the entire audience saw a young man gracefully 
bow to the astonished president and then to 
themselves,—a young man with a foot and leg 
splashed with green paint, the trouser-leg 
hanging almost in strips about his ankles, and a 
trail of green footprints behind him. 

The longed-for had happened ! The Sopho¬ 
mores had done something funny after all, and 
the great audience shook with a gale of laugh¬ 
ter. Curtis expected this and he stood before 
them defiant and contemptuous, his eyes flash¬ 
ing and his hands clenched by his side. He 
could n’t forget his speech if he had to stand 
there ten years waiting for the laughing to 
cease, and he would speak whether they burned 
the house over his head or shot at him from the 
front seats. 

After a moment the audience settled into 
silence, feeling a little ashamed of itself, with 
the exception of the inevitable hysterical per¬ 
sons who can never stop laughing when once 
started. Curtis had an excellent selection and 
one admirably adapted to his present disposi¬ 
tion. He had done well in rehearsals but never 
had he put into it the fire and the life that 
thrilled it now; his fierce determination killed 













A CURE FOR NERVOUSNESS 113 

every trace of self-consciousness and swept him 
along triumphantly. 

The house stilled; even the gigglers felt that 
they were getting somehow conspicuous and 
managed to control themselves, the English 
professor beamed through his glasses with sur¬ 
prised delight, while Bennett, who had groaned 
aloud when he heard Curtis fall, stared with 
open-mouthed astonishment. 

When it was over, Curtis made a bow, 
hopped down the awkward distance between 
the platform and the choir as gracefully as could 
be expected, and came down to his seat amid 
the most enthusiastic applause that ever greeted 
a speaker in all the much-speaking history of 
that church. 

Two ushers rigged up a pair of steps by a 
combination of a stool found in the vestry and 
a pile of organ books, and the exercises went 
on. When Bennett’s turn came, he disappoint¬ 
ed nobody, but when the orchestra had breathed 
its last and the judges returned from the ante¬ 
room, the chairman of the committee came for¬ 
ward, and, after the usual preamble concerning 
the unusual excellence of the evening’s perform¬ 
ance, announced that the first prize was award- 
9 


COLBY STORIES 


II 4 

ed to Richard Henry Curtis and the second 
prize to Arthur Freeman Bennett. The hearty 
applause that followed made it evident that the 
awards suited the audience very generally, and 
while a candid critic would have told you that 
Bennett’s performance was undoubtedly more 
artistic, an exhibition of pluck goes a great deal 
farther than aesthetics with the average com¬ 
mittee of awards, and certainly no one was 
more delighted than Bennett himself 

After Curtis’s classmates and college friends 
had put him through the siege of back-slapping 
and hand-shaking, they began to discuss the 
scheme of the trap itself. The Sophomores 
were severely reprimanded for setting the thing 
after the president’s admonition, but as a class 
they disclaimed knowledge of the act, declaring 
that they had voted to keep all disturbances out 
of the church in accordance with the wish of the 
Powers. A close examination of the mutilated 
step showed that the upper board had been 
sawn away under the strip of carpet and the car¬ 
pet itself slit above so as to give in at the slightest 
pressure arid let the unwary foot into the wide 
pail of paint placed just beneath. Since that 
time, by the way, the pair of steps placed there 
has been uncarpeted. 


A CURE FOR NERVOUSNESS 115 

For some days the general impression was 
that a few Sophomores had devised the trick 
without the knowledge of the rest of the class, 
and the feeling was strong that such a trick was 
unworthy of any class as the whole weight of it 
came upon a single individual. Then a Fresh¬ 
man remembered using that step on the morning 
before the exhibition as he went into the church 
to rehearse, and as Freshmen kept watch in the 
church all day it would have been difficult for 
Sophomores to have set such an elaborate 
trap that afternoon. The talk finally centered 
on Harris, who had spoken and acted rather 
queerly about the affair, and who happened to 
have been the class watchman in the church the 
last three hours of the afternoon. Harris was 
cornered and forced to admit that he was the 
guilty man. 

A howl of indignation arose at the idea of a 
man’s turning traitor to his own classmate out 
of mere personal jealousy. A class-meeting 
was called—the only one in which Harris did 
not make his presence known—and the motion 
was put to drop Harris formally as a member of 
the class. Curtis was the only one who objected 
to the action; he pleaded for the culprit, de- 


n6 


COLBY STORIES 


daring at last that personally he was under great 
obligations to Harris, for the pail of paint was 
the only thing that saved him from an utter 
flunk. 

Harris did not wait for further developments 
but wrote home that the college was not large 
enough for him,—as indeed it was not,—and 
made a rapid exit from the campus, emitting a 
string of damns that applied to the college, the 
class, and Curtis in particular. 

“That was a fire-of-coals speech you made 
this morning,” remarked a classmate as he en¬ 
tered Curtis’s room after the class-meeting. 

“Thanks, but you ’re a liar as usual,” returned 
Curtis cheerfully, “what I said was simple fact. 
I shall always be glad to give my testimonial to 
the wonderful effects of the Harris treatment for 
nervousness; it is a sure cure,—apply exter¬ 
nally, and if you are as scared as I was, you 
will shake well before taking.” 


THE LEG THAT TAILED 


Adam’s leg had been expected for several 
weeks, now. 

No one need base a clue to identity on this 
name. I have merely chosen to give the name 
of the first man to the first man of my story,— 
its hero. 

Adam, not in person but represented by 
friends, on the way home from the post-office 
called daily at the office of the American Ex¬ 
press Co. By this agency was the expected 
member to be delivered. To be sure the pack¬ 
age would reach Adam at the Bricks. But, 
should it come on the early morning train, sev¬ 
eral hours might be saved by getting it at the 
express office. And several hours is an impor¬ 
tant item when it is the case of a leg or no leg. 
At any rate, so thought Adam. Stumping 
around several months on one foot and two 
sticks naturally makes a man look forward to 
an easier mode of locomotion. 

Then add to this the liability of the crutches 


Il8 COLBY STORIES 

to disappear at inopportune times. If Adam 
laid aside these visible means of support for a 
few minutes while in the reading-room, or if 
he fell into meditation, to which he was prone, 
or if he lost himself in the heat of argument, he 
did not always find them at hand when reached 
for. 

This disappearance was usually at the hands 
of one of the three whom he regarded as his 
chief friends. They, “Larry,” “ Forrie,” and 
“ Charley,” also occupied somewhat the place 
of grand inquisitors. The heresy to be brought 
to light was Adam’s temper. To tease Adam 
was one of their recreations. Nor was the pro¬ 
cess entirely disagreeable to him. I have 
noticed that nearly every one likes to be teased, 
provided it is by the right person, at the right 
time, in the right way, and is not carried too 
far. Adam was no exception. 

It often went too far with him, however. 
Then it was the part of prudence for his tor¬ 
mentors to keep out of reach of his crutch, or 
remove the weapon of offense. For wielded 
by his powerful right arm the stick would 
describe such vicious circles as would have 
driven the Professor of Logic frantic. Nor was 


THE LEG THAT FAILED 119 

the process entirely without danger to the stick 
itself, which, as well as surrounding objects, 
animate or inanimate, ran the risk of annihi¬ 
lation. 

Yet Adam’s wrath was of short duration. He 
was the last person to harbor resentment. So 
these three tormentors were his trusted emissa¬ 
ries to the express office. 

The winter vacation of 188- Adam had spent 
at the hospital in Portland. To be rid of a 
troublesome foot his right leg had been ampu¬ 
tated just below the knee. Since the opening 
of the spring term he had been back among us. 
It was now nearing the middle of May. 

Intimations of the coming “ high tide of the 
year ” were on every hand. There were cer¬ 
tain “ signs of spring ” that had “ never failed 
us yet.” The campus had gone through its 
annual change. The watchfulness of Sam, 
ably seconded by his assistant, “ Rabbit,” 
could not prevent the customary from hap¬ 
pening. 

In spite of their vigilance the campus 
changed one night from dreary brown to dirty 
black. Until driven into the ground by the 
rains, there were little patches of grayish-white 


120 


COLBY STORIES 


ashes where the dead grass had been thickest. 
Gradually the black changed to green, giving 
ample opportunity for the time-honored inter¬ 
change of jokes in color between the witty 
Freshman and Sam. 

There were other indications, no less to be 
relied on, of balmier days than this “ sea- 
change ” of the campus. Behind the colleges 
the willows were in full leaf. The maple leaves 
were well along towards maturity. From the 
river came the odor of spruce logs, making you 
sniff again for their spicy sweetness. The old 
railroad bed on sunny afternoons was alive here 
and there with solitary figures, pacing book in 
hand. If those “ pacing there alone ” were 
co-eds (the women of the college had not yet 
been advanced backwards to the dignity of 
co-ords), the solitary figure was at least two. 

From day to day the Freshmen gathered in 
little groups under the trees at their Horace. 
The Freshman reading was now happily—that 
is, unhappily—over; a thing of the past, at 
any rate. Why should not these embryo 
Sophs, rejoice with their Horace out in the 
“balm and the blossoming”? And how well 
Horace and the springtime go together. I 


THE LEG THAT FAILED 


121 


wonder if it is the poet in the Professor of Latin 
that put the Horace in the spring term; or 
was it merely the result of what Adam would 
have called a “ meaningless concatenation of 
events,” emanating from some trustee or faculty 
meeting? However that may be, each succes¬ 
sive class has felt the fitness, and has rejoiced 
that it was so. 

Every afternoon the Juniors went to their 
experimental chemistry in Coburn Hall, secretly 
envying those who could be out of doors, and 
yet reconciled to their long afternoon imprison¬ 
ment among unsavory odors by the thought 
that they were getting one of the very best 
things of their college course under the faith- 
fulest of teachers. 

The Sophomores, meeting by twos and 
threes, congratulated themselves that they had 
passed through the year with ranks undepleted, 
a thing which, considering all that the last 
eight months had brought forth, was remark¬ 
able. The Seniors felt the breath of the Senior 
vacation close at hand. Their thoughts would 
continually go out to that after-commencement 
period when they should first begin to live , 
forgetting that this, too, had been life. 


122 


COLBY STORIES 


Yes, the editors of the “Poet’s Corner” in 
the Echo were not the only ones aware of 
certain sure indications of spring. For some 
weeks the boys had awakened each morning to 
hear the song of the sparrows, the sweetest 
singers among our early bird visitors from the 
South. The bluebirds added their cadence to 
the morning. From the very tops of the wil¬ 
lows or the elms the robins poured forth their 
call. A few days earlier the gleam of the first 
oriole had been seen in the elms. 

Each morning Adam would, if it were fair, 
thrust his head out the window to drink in the 
beauty of the new day. He would glance at 
the robin’s nest in the branches right opposite 
his window (his room was on the fourth floor, 
and so among the treetops), usually to find the 
mother bird on the nest. Then his eyes would 
wander to the ground and follow the path out 
to the street, and then across to the station 
beyond. When the gleam of the red roof of 
the baggage-room met his eyes he. would won¬ 
der, “ Will it come to-day ? If it does n’t 
come to-day, I ’ll write and stir them up,” 
thought Adam. It was a resolution that he 
had made twenty times before, but had never 
carried out. 


THE LEG THAT FAILED 123 

On this particular Wednesday morning in 
May the window, after a trick it sometimes had 
and in the stealthy way of inanimate objects 
bent on mischief, descended slowly and noise¬ 
lessly towards the back of its intended victim. 
It did not catch him this time; rather, it caught 
him in another way. 

“ Larry ” came around the corner from the 
direction of the gym., gnawing with the few 
teeth he had left a russet apple. The protrud¬ 
ing head was too much. “Larry” had not 
caught on the nine two years and nailed men 
at second for nothing. The half-eaten apple 
flew straight for the mark. Adam drew back 
his head violently just in time to escape the 
missile, which, splitting against the window- 
frame, spattered window and Adam’s face with 
juice and bits of apple. The back of his head 
hit the frame of the descending window. That 
head was of the hardest, yet unable to support 
the collision without some damage to the scalp 
and more to the temper. 

Adam let fly a few strong words, such as he 
has often used since in his professional life, I 
dare say, though not in the same sense, and 
with a different emphasis. 


124 


COLBY STORIES 


As Adam stumped down stairs that morning 
on his way to breakfast he saw on the hall floor 
a pin with its head towards him. Superstition 
was not altogether dead in him, though a 
Senior. He picked the pin up, putting it in 
the bottom of his vest in the company of others 
of its kind similarly gathered. 

“ That means good luck. My leg will come 
to-day,” he thought. 

A moment later he caught sight of “ Forrie,” 
who called “Hullo, Adam, where’s y’r leg; 
come yet? ” 

“ Not yet,” with serenity, and a note of cock¬ 
sureness incident upon the pin episode, “ but 
it’ll be here to-day, I think.” 

“Forrie” laughed the laugh of the skeptic; 
but Adam was right. 

The arrival of the eastbound “Yankee” that 
afternoon found some fifty of the boys at the 
station. Among them' was Adam. Try¬ 
ing to appear unconcerned, he scanned the 
express packages narrowly as they were taken 
from the car. No parcel of the probable size 
and shape was there. The train drew out. 
The express wagon rumbled away down town. 
The dust from its wheels drifted across the 


THE LEG THAT FAILED 125 

campus, overtaking and surrounding Adam on 
his way to his room. 

The few chronic “ pluggers,” whom not even 
this fine afternoon, and a holiday at that, could 
tempt out of doors, heard the melancholy and 
somewhat spiteful thump of crutches ascending 
the three long flights of stairs. The sound 
became measured and more muffled as he 
reached the upper hall and walked its length. 

A rattle of the key in the lock, a slammed 
door, a crutch striking the floor too hard to 
have been merely dropped, showed the state of 
Adam’s mind. The “plug” in the room di¬ 
rectly underneath jumped in surprise at the 
noise; the lamp on his table, never too steady 
on its base, started in a tremulous dance. 

Adam had no hopes of the local train from 
Portland to Bangor, which was due an hour 
and a half after the “ Yankee.” He took up a 
book, and soon vexation and disappointment 
were forgotten in the works of Dr. Johnson. 
In a half hour or so he laid down Johnson and 
took up Macaulay. These were the two 
authors he chiefly admired, and after whom he 
tried to pattern his style. His admirers thought 
that at his happiest he equaled or even excelled 


126 


COLBY STORIES 


these. Adam was much of the same opinion, 
and certainly his diction was ponderous with 
“words of learned length and thund’ring sound.” 

Deep in the essay on “ Milton,” he did not 
notice the arrival or the departure of the Ban¬ 
gor local. He was aroused from his absorption 
by a roar of voices, amid which he detected 
his own name pronounced in a manner insult¬ 
ing to a man’s dignity — “ A-dam.” “In the 
pauses of the wind ” from some half hundred 
throats he could hear the rumble of wheels. 
The express wagon was coming up the drive, 
escorted by a chorus of shouting boys. The 
numbers increased every moment. A glance 
told every one what had happened. Adam’s 
leg was come. South College emptied itself. 
The reading-room was deserted. The noise 
penetrated even into the quiet of the Library. 
It, too, was speedily left to the Librarian and 
the co-eds. To them the Professor remarked 
sarcastically that education was the one thing 
of which people were not anxious to get their 
money’s worth. From all sides trooped the 
boys to' rejoice with Adam, now that he had 
found again—in a little different form, to be 
sure—the piece of him that had been lost. 


THE LEG THAT FAILED 127 

Into the south hall of North College they 
thronged, “ Forrie,” “Larry,” and “Charley,” 
with the precious bundle between them, at the 
head. Adam, eyes sparkling, beatific grin, open 
door and open mouth, stood ready to receive 
the package and his visitors. It bore the 
familiar stamp of the American Express Co. 
Lower down Adam’s delighted eye read: 

“Adam -, Colby University, Room —, 

North College, Waterville, Maine,”—just as 
Adam had ordered it done. The minute ad¬ 
dress was not so much for the enlightenment 
of the agent of the local express company, who 
knew well enough where to find him; it was, 
rather, a bit of harmless vanity on Adam’s part, 
designed to impress duly the firm which had 
the honor of furnishing the artificial leg. 

“ Three cheers for Adam’s leg,” proposed 
“Forrie.” “Hurrah!” yelled the boys. Above 
all rose the exultant voice of Adam. He cer¬ 
tainly had the most reason to shout. In a 
frenzy of delight he clambered on to the bed. 
One foot and one crutch supported him. The 
other crutch waved in triumph over his head; 
the banner of a hope fulfilled, describing not 
vicious circles but curves of exultation. His 



128 


COLBY STORIES 


voice rose higher,—higher than ever before. 
The robin, frightened from her nest in the tree 
outside, though well used to noises, darted 
away. The boys, crowding for a better view 
and a nearer approach to the scene of action, 
extended out into the hall. On the outskirts 
hovered the “ plugs.” The excitement was 
too much even for them. A lamp fell with a 
crash, and the odor of kerosene filled the room. 
What cared Adam? A chair gave way under 
the combined weight of four men, who all tried 
at once to rise by its aid above the heads 
of their fellows. What did Adam care about 
a chair to sit in now that he had two feet to 
stand upon. It would take more than these 
minor accidents to check his spirits and lower 
the pitch and power of his hurrahs. 

Gradually the crowd became silent. Adam, 
seated on the side of the bed, was opening the 
box. He was now undoing the last wrap¬ 
pings—his dark face lighted up like a gloomy 
mountain lake under a burst of sunshine. 

Suddenly his face changed. It wore a 
momentary, surprised, dazed expression. His 
countenance darkened. His teeth snapped 
together. His hand once more clinched the 


THE LEG THAT FAILED 129 

discarded crutch. There was a dangerous 
gleam in his eye as he muttered, “ By the by, 
‘ Forrie,’ that was mighty mean.” But “ For- 
rie ” and his two fellow leg-bearers were well 
towards the door, with a compact body of men 
between them and the avenging crutch. 

As Adam started to his feet the contents of 
the box fell out on the bed. There it lay in 
all its snowy whiteness,— that plaster-of-paris 
leg. It never could have belonged to Adam. 
It might have belonged to Eve. 


10 


CLASS-SPIRIT. 


Edgar Dillingham was a typical Colby man. 
And this was not because he had failed to 
characterize his course by brilliant recitations 
or graceful flunks, by stunning entrees in the 
little world of society lived by the Dunn House 
and Ladies Hall co-eds, by grand debuts in 
Bates-Colby debates, by not being a partici¬ 
pant in the Commencement exercises of his 
class—not any one of these—but he was typ¬ 
ical, because Colby men called him typical. 
That is argument enough. 

He did n’t make P. B. K. Well, who knows 
that he wanted to make it? For all we know 
he may have reasoned as Professor Blank, who 
said that he “ vould n’t join if they should ask 
him; didn’t take to die crowd.” He mani¬ 
fested no desire to become the head of the 
Oracle. But this story does n’t treat of the 
office aspirations of Dillingham. It means to 
show very poorly what Dillingham had to do 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


131 

with the making of a healthy class-spirit in 
ninety-blank. Do n’t mind the coloring. Even 
women paint—bon-bon dishes, you know. 

Dillingham was popular; he could n’t count 
his friends if he tried. Some men,—aye, a 
great many men may be excellent students, 
very agreeable fellows, particularly at cramming 
time—more, very perfect fellows; but despite 
all of these excellences they utterly fail to 
“get in with the boys.” They are they who, 
bereft of friends, take life as a burden. They 
grow desperate; they invite the “ upper crust” 
around of a night, set up the cigars and— 
moxie, play a couple of tables of, say, Authors, 
crawl into bed at three in the morning, and fall 
like a thousand of bricks before “ Stet ” and 
“Dutchy” in the forenoon’s recitations. For a 
week thereafter they hear the thundering 
reverberations of the Aegean depths, and “ O-o, 
oh, Mr. Roberts! I vill cut you out.” 

Such men forget the words of Baillie,— 
“Friendship is no plant of hasty growth.” 

Dillingham never bought friends at the sacri¬ 
fice of his principles, he never relied for 
“pulls” on the traditional tales of his early 
ancestors. But it isn’t for an old grad, nor a 


i3 2 


COLBY STORIES 


young grad, to say just what Dillingham 
had done to bring himself into the centre of 
so admiring a circle as that in which he found 
himself toward the end of his collegiate years 
—because he does n’t know. One thing, how¬ 
ever, was evident enough—he was popular. 
He had been chosen Senior president, had 
played on the ’Varsity elevens since Freshman 
days, was the head of the loyal working force 
of the Y. M. C. A. Besides, he had officiated 
at many college functions, was a frequent col- 
umn-and-a-half contributor to the pages of the 
Echo—that paper whose editor and make-up 
changed as often as the sands of the ocean,— 
and the boys said, found time to attend every 
rarebit and fudge convocation held inside a five- 
mile radius of the Bricks. Be that as it may, 
the writer, an old fudge lover himself, admired 
his pluck. 

It is Commencement time now. The story 
I am to tell you, as truthfully (and with the 
coloring of which I spoke) as memory will 
allow, began about a year ago, at the time,of 
the Senior class election. Als Brown, like his 
father before him, was a man of political aspi- 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


133 


rations. He had long set his heart on the 
presidency of the Senior class. He had never 
questioned but that every one else wanted him 
president; in this, also, he was very like his dad. 
In some unexplainable way he had cajoled 
three men of his class to his support. They 
had even guaranteed in the ardor of their 
Brownish enthusiasm a little speechmaking on 
the eve of the election. Well, the eve came, 
and with it a very formidable opponent to the 
Brown element. The last plank in the platform 
drawn up urged the nomination by acclamation 
of Edgar A. Dillingham, the opponent. 

“ I hear Brown is running against you,” said 
Egbert, slapping Dillingham on the shoulder. 

“Is he?” queried Edgar. “Well, every 
man, I suppose, has a right to aspire to any 
old office he chooses. I never allow oppo¬ 
nents to bother me.” 

The election came. Some one in a vigorous 
speech nominated Dillingham for class presi¬ 
dent. The three Brown men kept mum, and 
when it came to voting, there were four scatter¬ 
ing votes marked “ A. Brown.” 

“Speech! speech!” 

Dillingham got up and accepted the class 


*34 


COLBY STORIES 


gift with appropriate words. I see him now, 
with those broad shoulders supporting an intel¬ 
ligent head, and that honest face with the 
pleasant smile. 

The very next time Dillingham met Brown, 
Brown snubbed him straight. 

Cheering the Halls! Ah! What memories 
then ! 

While Dillingham led his class this day in 
the cheering he did not feel at all satisfied with 
his college course. The farewell to the college 
home was bitter. 

He led his followers along the walk to Reci¬ 
tation Hall. The great limbs of the maple and 
elm above them seemed to wave a farewell, 
too. Within those brick walls he had many 
times flunked the genial Greek Prof., but 
he could n’t remember, now, that Als Brown 
had ever fallen there. Selfishly, perhaps, he 
believed that that same genial man respected 
him, likely as well as Als. He recalled what the 
Prof, had said in his speech before the assem¬ 
bled students on the occasion of a football 
victory, “ Mr. Dillingham, in large measure, is 
responsible for this victory for our college.” 


CLASS-SP/R/7 ’ 


135 


There, too, he had fallen before “Jude,” 
“Cosign,” and “ Dutchy.” What hours in 
that north room of third floor! That bust of 
stern old Cicero, that colored map of Rome, 
—all in that room were memories now. But, 
whether he chanced to meet the faculty men on 
the street or at the president’s receptions, he 
ever received from them a kindly word. He 
recalls how Als at one of these stately gather¬ 
ings cornered the professor of mathematics and 
plied him with every nameable question on Art 
—her use and abuse. How disconcerted and 
vexed the good man seemed. Then Als was 
overheard telling the wife of one of the faculty 
men that her husband worked more hours than 
any other one of the professors. This for any 
other man in the world to say would have 
taken a deal amount of gall. He remembers 
what his division boys had said of Brown, that 
he had no match for wire-pulling in Colby—yet 
he made Phi Beta Kappa. 

Now they were cheering the Gym. Dilling¬ 
ham remembered how on that very afternoon 
“Doc” Frew, the Gym. instructor, met him 
and said, “Well, we’re going to lose Dilling¬ 
ham, are we? Don’t be surprised if you hear 


136 


COLBY STORIES 


that Colby’s centre is weak this fall, will you ?” 
Then he and the doctor had a talk on athletics, 
Edgar’s opinion being asked about the matter 
of a coach. “Yes,” said Dillingham, when he 
was by himself again, “ the doctor and I are 
good friends.” Yet, all these reminiscences 
did not soothe his troubled spirits; if anything, 
they vexed him the more for having thought 
them. 

The last cry had been flung hoarsely against 
the rock-sides of the old chapel; the crowd of 
people grouped here and there about the 
college grounds, and the teams from the rear 
of the dormitories commenced their slow march 
out the gateways. 

Dillingham went up to his room in South 
College to wash up, and at the same time to 
watch the Commencement crowd disperse. 
Out in front of Memorial Hall stood a knot of 
old grads, and their wives. They were telling 
tales of older college days, and now and then 
Edgar could catch bits of the stories. Several 
Seniors, with their caps and gowns laid aside, 
were lolling lazily about on the greensward, 
discussing their future. 

There are three types of Colby graduates, 


CLASS-SPIP/T 


137 


the characteristics of each being particularly 
noticeable at Commencement time. They are, 
first, that small body of individuals \ubo have 
long since solved that difficult problem, 
“What am I to do in life?” This body you 
are always running up against at any college 
function; this body of men seem, to the eye, 
free from all worry; they rush hither and 
thither, begging programs from the bewildered 
ushers of Fresh year, seeing that all the details 
of the big day go off with a snap and vigor 
that is refreshing; second, that larger portion 
of the class, the individuals of which haven’t 
any idea about the future other than that they 
must soon bid her good-by, and go home to 
papa and mamma with the one hope that they 
will have worked out their future, and can tell 
them just what to do; third, the perhaps 
largest percentage of the class, the boys of 
which, vacillating, undecided, just wish to get a 
crowd of sympathetic spirits about them and 
tell how perplexing is that old problem of Life. 

This last type was represented by the Senior 
boys whom Dillingham recognized from his 
windows. In the centre of the group Edgar 
noticed Brown. He felt a throb of hot blood 


138 


COLBY STORIES 


course through his veins. Brown was the only 
man in college with whom Dillingham was not 
on the best of terms. Since class election, 
almost a year back, Brown had not spoken 
to him. 

Every man in college had learned the nature 
of the feud between the two upperclassmen, 
and, naturally enough, blamed Brown for it. 
One of the Sophs had the audacity to step 
up boldly to Brown, who was on his way from 
the Observatory one day, and say, “ I ’ve got 
my opinion of a man who will lecture us 
Sophs on class-spirit, yet hasn’t spoken, just 
because he could n’t get the office of his aspira¬ 
tions, to his class president for a whole year. A 
peach of a man to talk about class-spirit, col¬ 
lege loyalty,” and a good abundance of other 
guff, which, coming from an underclassman, 
deserved for him as sound a thrashing as some 
wayward predecessors had received. 

Brown, be it remembered, had never ceased 
making things disagreeable for Dillingham in 
all the class-meetings; ever ready to throw 
cold water on every move suggested by Edgar; 
ever ready to cite instances where Dillingham 
used favoritism for his frat—and, be it remem- 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


139 


bered, too, that few men would have stood a 
half of what Dillingham did. There came a time, 
as such times come, when Als saw the errors of 
his way, and a great change became percepti¬ 
ble in his manner. He left off his wire-pulling, 
treated all students with respect, and gradually 
attracted about him a goodly number of college 
chums. 

It was a few days before the college would 
finally close her doors for the long vacation 
when Leary whacked his cane impetuously 
against the flooring of his room, and asked of 
his room-mate a very pertinent question, “Why 
in the name of the Continental Congress does n’t 
Als shake hands with Dillingham, and call it 
square? You know yourself, Chum, that 
Edgar has never really disliked Als, and Als 
knows that, too, and since Brown has acted the 
ass so long, why,—well, I’m not preaching, 
but then, why on earth aren’t they friends?” 

“That is well put, Mr. Leary; I think we 
are all of one opinion about that, however,” 
rejoined his room-mate, looking very like the 
official head of Colby. Then continuing, 
“Would you have Dillingham get down on his 
knees to Als? No !” 


140 


COLBY STORIES 


“ No, surely not, but we ought to get them 
togeth—” 

“Editorial we?” queried the room-mate. 
“ Now, Leary, old man, let us not mix up in 
any class quarrel; things are coming our way, 
for I feel all will be well in the end. I know 
just as well as you that because of this quarrel, 
which is wholly Brown’s doings, the old spirit 
of ninety-blank is gone. We are not to blame, 
and I can’t see that we can successfully bring, 
the two men together. Speaking of that 
good old spirit, do you remember the exit of 
our class Freshman year? We were banded 
together as brothers, then. But now,”—the 
student’s mind went back over the four years. 
What glorious times he had had with his fellow- 
classmen ! “ Say,” he continued thoughtfully, 
“ do n’t you suppose Brown knows how we feel 
about this matter? He’s blinder than a bat if 
he doesn’t; but we’ve got a day or two yet 
before we break up for good.” 

“Break up?” Leary rose and stood before 
his room-mate. “Confound you, chum, you 
promised you wouldn’t say that again!” and 
thereupon he proceeded to seize him by one 
leg and tumble him upon the bed. The two 
























CLASS-SPIRIT 


I 4 T 


boys lay there some time listening to the poor 
Soph in the room below swearing and yelling 
vociferously, while trying to cram out his next 
day’s special exam. You may call him a Har¬ 
vard plug , a Yale grind , or a Princeton poler\ 
Colby calls him a crammer. 

Dillingham had come back late from his 
supper. He passed a great many upperclass¬ 
men with their co-eds on their way to the con¬ 
cert in Memorial Hall. He hurried on up 
College avenue, lifting his hat right and left to 
his many acquaintances. Just opposite Ladies 
Hall he passed by his old enemy, Brown. Dil¬ 
lingham, with the pride of a gentleman, raised 
his hat politely to the co-ed with Brown. To 
his great surprise Brown returned the bow very 
nicely. “ A little extraordinary,” mused Dil¬ 
lingham; “I can’t quite fathom the reason for 
that, coming now just at the end of our course. 
Have n’t seen him bow for a year, co-ed or 
no co-ed. Just respect for that pretty Colby 
girl, that’s all.” Thus Edgar settled matters in 
his own mind, but there was a breast that 
heaved heavily, and a mind that reasoned, “He 
must have understood that I meant it,”—both 
belonged to Als Brown. 


142 


COLBY STORIES 


Dillingham went on up the walk leading to 
South College, stopping just long enough to 
reply to a group oi fellow-classmates, that he 
would n’t be at the concert that evening. He 
had only a moment before reached that deci¬ 
sion. He offered no explanations to the fel¬ 
lows; college men, as a rule, never offer expla¬ 
nations. You must know that if a man says he 
is busy, the question, What have you to do? 
is never expected; so it becomes a college law 
that it is not appropriate. The football and 
baseball managers have their letters to write, 
their schedules to make; the Oracle editor 
has enough to do, you may be sure; the Echo 
editor must write his droning editorials to 
stimulate a “healthy college spirit”; the inter¬ 
collegiate debater must argue points with 
“ Rob,” and practise that pet position and ges¬ 
ture, all alone, before his mirror; the musical 
club managers and leaders must arrange dates 
for performances and workup new selections; 
and besides all these, there is the statistic man 
for the Oracle , who will announce to the world 
just how much ninety-blank weighs, who will 
vote the Democratic ticket in the city election, 
the exact “ tonnage ” of each man, whether 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


H 3 

Julia says “By gosh dam ” or “ Goo, goo” for 
“ an expression ” ; there is the man who drums 
up Y. M. C. A. dues; the man who—well, 
every one is busy; even the lazy man is busy 
—he must have time for his smoke. Edgar 
was busy; he did not have one thing to do 
now; he was just simply personally engaged— 
he wanted time to think. 

He went up to his room and threw himself 
upon his couch. He realized that the end of 
his college days had come, and somehow 
he did n’t want them to come just then. He 
did n’t want consolation exactly—he could n’t 
locate any troubles; no, he did n’t wish to see 
any one, not even his dearest friend, big Joe 
Lawrence, the full-back. He lay there some 
time, thinking of nothing in particular and 
about everything in general. He heard his 
division boys run down the winding stairs, 
slamming the doors with a bang that made the 
bricks on the old building rattle. He heard 
Collins from up the college walk call out to 
Junior Harriman to hustle up or they would be 
late. Leary was assuring his room-mate in the 
adjoining room that he wouldn’t recognize her 
till she recognized him. On this he would 


I 44 


COLBY STORIES 


safely bet his last twopence. Another fellow 
from third floor was borrowing “ Chum’s collar 
and necktie.” He listened now as the men 
passed beneath his windows along the gravel 
walks. “What lingo!” he said to himself. 
“Teddy is rank —she’s all right and—strong 
man for ’varsity—punch—swelled head, that’s 
all—Jude’s a brick for—B. U. cancels every 
game—do Bowdoin up easy—college spirit’s 
all right—” 

“What!” cried Edgar, pulling the side cur¬ 
tain back, “ Als Brown says college spirit is all 
right! ” Dillingham watched' the retreating 
figure through the darkness. “Yes,” he con¬ 
tinued, turning away, “it’s this confounded 
mood I’m in; college spirit is all right—I 
guess.” 

Dillingham knew that the concert would soon 
begin, and he would not be there. He almost 
decided to go, but something teased him to re¬ 
main away, so he lay back on the couch 
again. The building was very quiet now; only 
occasionally did he hear steps on the gravel 
walks outside. Presently he heard the orches¬ 
tra strike up the opening selection. He could 
not hear it very well so he went downstairs to 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


145 


the stone steps and sat down. Now there crept 
over Dillingham a very disagreeable feeling of 
loneliness; just such a sensation as comes to 
the Maine farmer’s boy when he balances him¬ 
self at evening time on the top fence rail, listens 
to the plaintive notes of the wood-bird, and 
dreams of the golden road to fame. You’ve 
been in Dillingham’s place? Then you know 
how poorly I tell this bit of my story. 

His college days were over. He remembers 
this time last year,—-how far away the end of 
his Senior year seemed then, and now, here he 
was—at the end. Was he satisfied with him¬ 
self? Something told him that he was not. 
He might have studied harder and made 
P. B. K. and a part at Commencement,—if only 
he had crammed a little more, at least, as much 
as his enemy Brown. Yes, Brown had beaten 
him out; he felt it now, yet he was not envious. 
“Als should feel happy as he listens to that 
sweet music, knowing that he has graduated 
with honors,” mused Edgar. “Here I am, sit¬ 
ting and looking very like a bump on a log.” 
He was not thinking how much his eulogistic 
Greek professor respected him, nor how the 
other members of the faculty stopped him on 


146 


COLBY STORIES 


the street and chatted pleasantly. In his own 
way of reasoning, you see, he was a very un¬ 
wise and foolish man. 

Dillingham sat with his head bowed in his 
hands, half listening to his mumbled words, 
and half to the sweet music which now floated 
out to him in all the beauty that the crack Com¬ 
mencement orchestra could give. Something 
moved him to look up; he was astonished to 
see Brown pass by. He thought he stopped, 
then hurried on. “Why isn’t he at the con¬ 
cert?” Edgar asked himself. Then he hap¬ 
pened to think, perhaps Brown intended enter¬ 
ing the building, and hesitated to do so because 
he was there. He would go somewhere else; 
he would not give him annoyance the last day 
they would be together as classmates. So Dil¬ 
lingham got up and strolled out under the trees 
in front of North College. He hoped that he 
would be alone there; he was disappointed. 
Several people paced back and forth on the 
lawn, possibly having the same spell of loneli¬ 
ness as himself. He would turn back and go 
down through the willows to the river. He had 
not gone twenty paces when he came face to 
face with Brown again. The same apparent 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


T 47 


pause in Brown as if to speak, then he turned 
abruptly aside to let Dillingham pass. “Con¬ 
found it! ” said Edgar under his breath, “you 
don’t imagine he intends to—” He listened 
awhile to the music that seemed to him far 
sweeter than before; it was galloping on in 
good time to his heart-beats, then he finished a 
broken sentence—, “be a ninety-blank man 
again ?” 

Dillingham passed down through the great 
willows that stretched to the river. He walked 
very slowly, for the moon only occasionally 
shone through the towering trees to light the 
narrow, grass-trodden path. He could see at 
the further end of the avenue of massive trunks 
the river that glistened in the soft rays of the 
moon, as it glided on to the sea. He noticed 
the poplar and maple trees that lined the river’s 
bank, outlined so clearly against the ruddy 
east. 

Can you not recall just how this beauty 
spot of nature’s appeared to you, graduate, 
when, tired of a Commencement day’s program, 
you wandered down between the hedges of 
trunks of willow trees, just as the light rose 
above the eastern hills and the rays crept 


COLBY STORIES 


148 

stealthily into the valley? Do you not recall a 
time, when the world seemed too big for you, 
when the objects for which you strove seemed 
narrow and insincere, you strolled up the old 
railroad line, till the woods met you back of the 
Shannon Observatory, and you admired the 
beauty of the river and the scenery all about 
you? Well, if you have missed that view by 
night, with the songs of the happy college boys 
mingling in strange contrast with the thoughts 
you harbor, when the dormitories with every 
window ablaze lighted the whole back campus, 
then you have not seen the beauty of old 
Colby. 

It was such a scene as this that Dillingham 
looked upon. If anything, it made him even 
sadder. There was no mistaking, he loved his 
college. He felt perhaps a little ungrateful at 
himself because he had not made more out of 
his college course, yet, had he not entered a 
green, country lad? had he not become popu- 
larwiththe men on that august faculty and with 
college men? was he not now a well-formed— 
aye! a clean, typical Colby man? He may 
have felt all this and admitted it, but, despite 
the fact of his advancement in popularity, of 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


! 4 9 


gaining an excellent physique and so on, he 
could not help feeling gloomy and displeased. 

He stood on the bank of the river, leaning 
against the railing that led down to the water 
below. He could only faintly hear the band 
now; of this he was glad. A mill-hand came 
down to the bank, unloosed his boat and rowed 
across to the opposite shore. Edgar watched 
him as he climbed up the steep embankment 
and disappeared between the long stretch of 
brick buildings. As he watched he felt a per¬ 
ceptible shadow fall before him. Turning 
quickly, he saw a student step from the shade 
into the moonlight—it was Brown. For a mo¬ 
ment the two men stood there face to face; 
then Brown came forward, put out his hands, 
and Dillingham took them. 

“Edgar,” began Brown huskily, “I—” 

“Old man,” interrupted Dillingham, “I’m 
glad of this.” 

“Say, Edgar, I’ve just been waiting for 
an opportunity like this for weeks. Wanted 
to give you a good old ninety-blank handshake, 
and ask pardon for all my foolish acts.” 

Edgar attempted to speak, but Brown went 
on with increased courage: 


COLBY STORIES 


J 5 ° 

“You have been too gentlemanly to me, Dil¬ 
lingham. What have I done for you to deserve 
any of your good-will? Nothing! I’ve made 
an ass of myself from first to last, while you,— 
you are ready to graduate, tackle something 
else; you have friends in abundance, have an 
all round education—” 

“I? Ha! ha!—why, I couldn’t make Phi 
Beta Kappa, while you—” 

“Yes, I admit it; I’ve made it—but what of 
that? What practical good will a wagon do a 
man when he has no horse? P. B. K. is a very 
good thing to make when a man has educated 
himself all round. You are far better off than 
I, Dillingham,—just because I imagined about 
all in this world was Ego , Ego , Ego; set my¬ 
self up as a little Grecian god, you know. Now, 
thank God, things have changed; I’ve tried to 
better my condition; I think, looking back, 
I’ve done pretty well. But there was one thing 
I did not do and, Dillingham, it has been 
a keen regret—that is, come to you as I have 
done to-night, act the part of a true college 
man, become good friends. The students out¬ 
side our class know that I have destroyed the 
good-feeling; that cuts me. Even a Soph twit- 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


151 

ted me of it just the other day; I couldn’t an¬ 
swer his charges for he spoke the truth. What 
nights I have passed in old North College, think¬ 
ing over our affair,—no, my affair! Once I de¬ 
cided to pack up and go; for three frat-nights 
I waited on the campus to meet you, but you 
always came up with the crowd, and so it has 
gone on till now. Dillingham, I never loved 
my college before; I love her now—at the end. 
Can’t you and I be friends?” 

“Brown,” said Dillingham, simply. 

Then Dillingham slipped his arm behind 
Brown and took his hand; Als did the same to 
Dillingham. Thus the two boys stood, locked 
together after the good old college way,— 
friends, while before them they saw the river 
flowing noiselessly on, over them the willows 
sang softly, and in the souls of the two boys 
the God of Love worked strangely. 

“Well! Well! Well!! Well!!! good old 
friends again, like good old Colby stock!” sang 
a chorus of voices behind. 

“By swum!” puffed Big Joe Lawrence, the 
full-back, “this is altogether too much to keep 
inside; I would propose that Colby yell. It 


x 5 2 


COLBY STORIES 


would give me great pleasure, gentlemen, on 
this most auspicious occasion to lead off. One, 
two, three— 

C-O-L-B-Y ! RAH ! RAH ! RAH ! ( Three 
times .) 

Dillingham and Brown-nn !” 

The yell rang out loud and clear. It would 
have attracted little attention from the crowd of 
men returning from the concert, they thinking 
it merely an outburst of pent-up patriotism, 
or a last time , had they not heard distinctly 
the names of the two Seniors long-drawn out 
at the close. Some twenty-five men were 
speedily transferred to the willows. Well, now, 
you may think there wasn’t a pretty joyous 
reunion down there in the moonlight. We all 
pounded each other and yelled like demons. 
Do n’t be shocked, old grad.,’t was just the bless¬ 
ed blood of old ninety-blank coursing through 
our veins again. Leary proposed a march back 
to the Bricks. Good-natured Big Joe with his 
“swums” and his soul of patriotism brought 
up the rear, singing up strong and joyously “In 
Praise of Alma Mater.” The whole line joined 
in the last verse, 


CLASS-SPIRIT 


z 53 


“Thrice blest the task that she has done, 

In binding us to one another, 

In making each a loyal son, 

And each to each a loyal brother. 

“ And so with filial pride we raise 
Our song in Alma Maters praise, 

And so with filial pride we raise 
Our song in dear old Colby’s praise.” 

The boys were standing on the lawn in front 
of South College, it seemed an hundred strong. 

“This has n’t been anywhere near joyful enough 
for me,” drolled out the full-back. “ Come up 
here, Leary, let’s holler! Now, boys,” he 
added after a yell or two, “ I want every Senior 
up in my room ; we’ll have a little spread up 
there in honor of this occasion.” This declara¬ 
tion was greeted with vociferous cheers. Law¬ 
rence looked upon the men about him, brought 
his hands together with a terrible snap, and 
added as a sort of convincing proof,—“By 
swum ! ! Never felt quite the way I do now. 
We’ll have a class-meeting that’ll be the longest 
one any class ever had, else my name’s Jehu.” 

Then Joe was for business. “Here, Fresh¬ 
man—oh, you sensitive Soph !—you’ve learned 
a mighty truth to-night, one that ought to stick 


*54 


COLBY STORIES 


in your mind forever, that class-spirit and friend¬ 
ship are tolerably near to synonymous terms; 
and so, sir,” he added impressively, “the 
straightest path for a virtuous man is the path 
of duty,” he pointed cityward, and tapped his 
shoe sternly against the stone step, “ Go ! young 
man, order for me at once food of the proper 
kind that shall fill the bellies of these here as¬ 
sembled,—the Staff of Life, young man, with 
pork or deviled ham interlaid; likewise punch 
—Maine 'punch —five gallons, sir, to quench 
the appetites of a wicked and perverse genera¬ 
tion of college men. Go ! ” And the student, 
glad to do favor to the genial full-back joyfully 
skipped down the walk. “Tell him, Mac, that 
Big Joe wants it or you won’t get it.” Mac 
waved his hat in reply as he boarded an electric 
car for the city. 

“What’s the matter with Joe?” cried some 
one. 

“ He’s all right!” 

“Who said so?” 

“ C-O-L-B-Y! RAH! RAH! RAH! 
C-O-L-B-Y!” 

Then the men sang. Some fifteen faculty 
men went down in various omnibuses and were 


CL ASS-SPIRIT 


155 


kicked out of Hades before Joe, even, vowed 
he hadn’t another breath left. Then Joe is¬ 
sued the final order for all Seniors to re-assemble 
in his room. Tables that had heretofore sup¬ 
ported long rows of dictionaries and football 
paraphernalia, were now laden with humanity; 
chairs were borrowed from adjoining rooms, 
pillows were hurled across the room at intervals, 
and Brown and Dillingham joined most heartily 
of any in the festivities that were then making. 

There was a rap on Joe’s door. “ Come in !” 
he fired. 

Thump ! thump ! swish ! swash ! sounded 
the little barrel as it rolled into the crowded 
room ; then in came boxes and bundles of food 
and baskets of dishes. 

“Open her up, Dillingham !” 

“There was an old man from Skowhegan, Maine.” 

“Say, Als, get out that food !” 

“Reuben Haskins was his name.” 

“Come, Leary, wash up those glasses!” 

“Came to the city to have some fun, 

And he ain’t had a darn bit since he come.” 

ordered and sang good-natured Big Joe Law¬ 


rence. 


COLBY STORIES 


*56 

It was long, long past the midnight watch 
when that crowd on that memorable night 
broke up. As Dillingham tumbled into his bed 
that morning, he could not recall a time when 
he had felt happier, when he thought life so 
worth the living. He lay for a long time look¬ 
ing out through the elm trees at the blinking 
arc light on the street corners, recalled what 
Brown had asked about being friends, and 
remembers now that he had shaken hands with 
Brown,—yes, Als Brown—and he was somehow 
happy, very happy. Finally he closed his 
eyes, mumbled a few broken sentences to no 
one in particular, saying: 

“ I feel all right—now,—college—loyalty, 
class-spirit,—Brown and I—Colby has done a 
heap—for—me,” and dropped off to sleep. 


UNVARNISHED TALES 







THE ENTERPRISE OF FRESHMAN D. 


I shall not soon forget the Colby campus as 
I saw it in the fall of 1879. There was about 
it none of the primitive air of the early days of 
the college; and it was lacking then two, at 
least, of the noble buildings which now adorn 
it. The turf of the campus had then known no 
other lawn-mower than the mouth of the ever 
faithful Sam’s cow, no tennis courts had ap¬ 
peared, and there was much unevenness and 
irregularity where now all is trim and neat. But 
the glories of autumn were as triumphant then 
as they ever become now. Indeed, as I look 
back upon the delightful days when the college 
course began, it seems to me that the autumn of 
’79 at the Colby campus was the most glorious 
I have ever known. And it seems perfectly 
natural that the overflowing boyish spirits which 
congregated on the campus at that time should 
have been as perpetually alert for mischief as 
for study. 


i6o 


COLBY STORIES 


President Robbins was the able but distant 
divinity who ruled our student destinies. He 
seemed to have an eye that would pierce a cul¬ 
prit’s mind as the modern X-ray searches the 
bones and tissues; and his awful presence sug¬ 
gested Olympian Jove to more than one 
trembling Freshman. 

Mischief was perilous in the days of Dr. 
Robbins, and for this reason I think it became 
unusually attractive. Even the Freshmen felt 
the contagion ; and one of them was a leader of 
the exploit which I am about to relate. 

At that time there were many sawmills in 
Fairfield, and the hauling of edgings to Water- 
ville to be sold for kindling wood was a regular 
industry, pursued with success by several French 
residents of Fairfield. One of the most famous 
of the merchants was an aged Gaul, locally 
known as “ Forkey.” He was a man of orig¬ 
inal wit as well as commercial enterprise, and I 
believe that some of his sayings found their way 
into the Editor’s Drawer of Harper's Mag¬ 
azine , where they amused the nation for that 
month. 

One night about dusk, when the wind was 
making the leaves dance over the campus, 




















College Boys of the Fifties 





THE ENTERPRISE OF FRESHMAN D. l6l 


“ Forkey’s ” cart appeared on the Fairfield road, 
with the usual load of kindling wood, and pro¬ 
ceeded by the colleges. Nearly in front of North 
College the horse stopped, and presently fell. I 
do not know the trouble. The local horse doctor 
—it was before the days of the veterinary sur¬ 
geon—made public no bulletin. The animal was 
taken away and the cart with its load of edgings 
was left by the roadside in front of North College. 

Among the students was the Freshman D. 
He is now a well-known and highly regpected 
New England clergyman, a builder of churches 
and gatherer of flocks. The expectations but 
not the responsibilities of this career were even 
then upon him. 

On that autumn evening a great temptation 
overmastered him; and sundry other youths 
delivered themselves over to the temptation 
without being overmastered. Ropes were taken 
from the gymnasium, stray ladders were “com¬ 
mandeered ” in the town, and before daylight 
the cart and its load were placed safely on the 
high roof of Memorial Hall. The kindling wood 
was nicely loaded on the cart, and everything 
was ready to start, provided “Forkey” could 
replace his sick horse with a Pegasus. 


12 


162 


COLBY STORIES 


Long before prayers the cart was discovered, 
and word was passed around among the students. 
With others the Freshman D. came out to view 
the sight, and expressed the conventional won¬ 
der at the achievement. 

The faculty also viewed the cart, and were 
soon deliberating in formal assembly. 

It was feared that Dr. Robbins, with his pierc¬ 
ing eye, had searched the hearts of the culprits 
as the boys came in to prayers, and the pur¬ 
pose of the meeting was supposed to be to 
find a punishment suited to the offense. Such 
meetings always produce uneasiness in the stu¬ 
dent body, and the present case was no excep¬ 
tion. 

There was one, however, who felt no fear. 
The Freshman D. marched boldly up to the 
council chamber, asked admittance, and was 
ushered into the awful presence of the faculty. 

Without quailing even before the piercing eye 
of Dr. Robbins, he announced that he supposed 
they were deliberating upon the best way of 
getting the cart down. 

An oppressive silence fell upon the faculty, 
and Dr. Robbins eyed the intruder sternly. 

“I was going to say,” continued the Fresh- 


THE ENTERPRISE OF FRESHMAN D. 163 

man 'D. with cheery confidence, “that I am 
working my way through college, and will get 
the cart down for ten dollars.” 

“Young man,” said Dr. Robbins impressively, 
“we accept your offer and appreciate fully your 
enterprise.” 

But in reality the Doctor only half appreci¬ 
ated the enterprise of the Freshman D. 


’ 83 . 


TALES OF TILE EARL Y DA YS 


One afternoon, as the writer and his classmate 
of the Senior class were walking up the street 
from the village after supper, they noticed in 
the field of corn by the roadside a very well 
executed object in human form which the culti¬ 
vator had that day erected to protect his early 
corn from crow depredations. The writer, call¬ 
ing his associate’s attention to the object, 
carelessly remarked, “ Wouldn’t it be a good 
joke if that fellow should make up his mind to 
attend prayers tomorrow morning?” The 
writer thought no more of the subject until the 
prayer bell next morning summoned the stu¬ 
dents to their early morning religious exercises, 
when, sure enough, to the astonishment of all 
the students as they gradually took their seats 
in the chapel, they beheld the president’s chair 
occupied by our Corn Protector with the presi¬ 
dent’s large folio Bible drawn down into his lap 
and apparently giving it his devoted attention. 


TALES OF THE EARLY DAYS 165 

On the arrival of the president, he violently 
seized his trespasser by the neck and dragged 
him through the entry, throwing him with much 
force out of the back door. 

Legal proceedings were at once instituted by 
the faculty to detect the perpetrator of the act, 
it being well understood that the guilty party’s 
college course was soon to end. Every student 
was duly summoned as a witness and put under 
oath, except the members of the Senior class, 
who were too well known as honest, faithful 
students to be even suspected of such enormous 
guilt. All testified to their own innocence and 
lack of knowledge and the result was that no 
student did it. The writer and his classmate 
were very careful not to talk of the subject, for 
neither of them cared for any additional in¬ 
formation which might add importance to their 
testimony if ever called into court. 

After graduation, one day, the classmate 
called the writer’s attention to the subject with 
the closing remark, “You did it; you were 
the guilty party.” The writer could but re¬ 
spond to the charge with the remark, “ I 
always thought so.” 


COLBY STORIES 


166 

One of the amusing events which took place 
during the early years of the college history 
was that which accompanied the wedding exer¬ 
cises of the president’s daughter and Professor 
Conant. Although it was well known that such 
an event was to take place at some time in the 
near future, yet the particular time or day of 
the wedding was kept a profound secret. About 
the appointed hour of the evening selected, all 
at once and unexpectedly, the college bell began 
to toll its solemn sound. The evening and the 
night were unusually dark and observation with 
the eye was out of the question as to the cause 
of the ringing or the mode of its execution. The 
fire department of the village made its prompt 
call but found nothing to do in its way. The 
ladder leading to the belfry in the attic had dis¬ 
appeared and no means of reaching the bell ex¬ 
isted. Where the bell-ringer was located and 
who he was were both secrets not capable of 
explanation. Search was made in vain while 
the solemn toll still continued until about the 
break of day on the following morning. The 
morning light presented to view a rope tied to 
the tongue of the bell and fastened to an object 
near the earth at the north end of the college. 


TALES OF THE EARLY DAYS 167 

The bell-ringer, however, as it was afterwards 
ascertained, did his duty while standing at the 
window on the south end of’ North College in 
the fourth story, several bed cords having by 
their connection overcome the distance between 
the bell and its ringer, no intervening build¬ 
ing then existing between the North and the 
South Colleges. Who was the bell-ringer and 
whether he was a human being or not, were 
secrets never solved or ascertained. 

* * * * * * * 

Late one evening several students had met 
together for the fun of it and were about to 
pursue their object into a later hour of the 
night, all for the pleasure to be derived from 
their anticipated sport, when, all of a sudden, 
Professor Keeley made his appearance in their 
midst. Stepping up to one of the leading mem¬ 
bers of the crowd, he tapped him gently on the 
shoulder with the inquisitive remark, “Is it not 
about time to retire? ” The result showed that 
they all thought so and there the fun ceased. 
The story is a very good illustration of Professor 
Keeley’s high stand in the affections and de¬ 
votion of all the students. 


32 . 


DANIEL PRATT, G. A. T. 


Poor old cracked-brained Daniel Pratt! 

He departed this life long since, and the 
student of the present day knows of the peripa¬ 
tetic philosopher only through tradition. Twen¬ 
ty years ago, or thereabouts, Pratt was a familiar 
figure on the campus. He used to make the 
rounds of New England colleges, reappearing 
at irregular intervals, to become the victim of 
quips and pranks and practical jokes. Daniel 
was a sort of high-class tramp. Educational 
institutions seemed to have upon him the fatal 
attraction of the candle for the moth. -Every 
time he ventured into the collegiate sphere he 
was doomed to a singeing; but he could never 
keep away. No matter how much he was made 
a butt of, no matter, indeed, if rudeness went to 
the point of personal indignities—it rarely did 
—he would be back next year, ready to hold 
forth on any topic, to any length, for the passing 
of the hat. He had his living to make, and in 


DANIEL PRATT,\ G. A. T. 169 

return for his lectures he expected a moderate 
compensation. 

When Daniel died, the newspapers printed 
brief and inadequate biographical sketches of 
this queer, quaint, and original character. Could 
the full story of his life be collected, it would 
make interesting reading for the many who knew 
him in his time. 

Transcendentalism must at some time have 
turned his brain, for he had a weakness for met¬ 
aphysical subjects and high-sounding terms. 
His discourses, abounding in words of many 
syllables and consisting of a jumble of unrelated 
and often grotesque ideas, would have stumped 
an expert stenographer. Daniel also had a 
weakness for titles. The students of almost 
every college he visited conferred one upon 
him—some several. The titles were burlesque 
of course, but he was wont to receive them in 
all sincerity and wear them with pride. The 
one that stuck permanently was G. A. T. 
(Great American Traveler). 

Numerous entertaining anecdotes of Pratt 
have been related, and doubtless many more 
are stored in the memories of older graduates. 
Here are one or two. 


170 


COLBY STORIES 


On one of Pratt’s visits to Colby, he was in¬ 
vited by a throng of students to go into the 
room of the old Literary Fraternity and hold 
forth. He accepted, nothing loath, on the usual 
condition that the hat should be passed and a 
contribution taken up. After he had rambled 
on in the customary strain for some time on 
some abstruse subject or subjects,—for under 
the interruptions and rallying of his auditors he 
was apt to wander, though quick and keen in 
retort,—he began to look anxious, and asked if 
he had not talked about long enough and if it 
was not time to carry out the pecuniary part of 
the contract. “ Oh, no ! ” was the reply. “ Go 
on ! Go on ! We haven’t heard half enough. 
When we get tired we’ll tell you. You shall 
have your pay all right.” 

In this way his tormentors kept him going 
for at least an hour, until he had talked himself 
hoarse and had used up most of the polysylla¬ 
bles in the dictionary. Finally, they passed the 
hat and handed it to the expectant philosopher. 
He turned the contents upon the table. There 
were seven cents, besides a button and an old 
campaign medal. Daniel collapsed into a chair, 
the picture of disappointment, dejection, and 
despair. 


DANIEL PRATT, G. A. T. 171 

“ Oh, confound it all! ” was his remark. 
“ Pox take the luck! ” 

He could express himself in vigorous Anglo- 
Saxon on occasions. 

At another time, some of the boys persuaded 
Pratt to call upon Dr. Champlin, who was then 
president of the college, and introduce himself. 
They represented that two such distinguished 
men ought to know each other. So Pratt went 
along and made himself known. “ Hum! 
Hum ! ” said Dr. Champlin, in his characteris¬ 
tic manner, “ so you are Daniel Pratt, the Great 
American Traveler? Well, let’s see you 
travel.” ’77. 


HOW THE TURKEY GOBBLER “SAID 
PR A VERS ” 

Some half century ago, college prayers, dur¬ 
ing warm weather, were had in an unpretentious 
old building, in a barren room, whose most con¬ 
spicuous article of furniture was an old box 
stove. On the top of this, near one end, was a 
crack which had gradually enlarged into a hole 
several inches long, and wide enough to secure 
the success of the smart little enterprise whereof 
I am to tell. 

Our president at that time was a man of 
giant proportions, exceedingly dignified in his 
bearing, with a strong, commanding voice, which, 
as it seemed to our young ears, did not soften 
much, though in prayers its tones even when 
addressing the Deity retaining their magisterial 
quality. 

One sweet June morning, for some good rea¬ 
son, we were all present, even the usually tardy 
students being promptly on time. The sacred 


HOW THE GOBBLER “SAID PRAYERS ” 173 

word was read in the customary emphatic mon¬ 
otone ; the students quietly listening, atten¬ 
tive, save that not a few could have been seen 
furtively eyeing the stove more than the 
reader. 

The holy book was closed. The majestic 
leader slowly rose to his attitude of standing 
devotion, but scarcely had his sonorous voice 
broken the waiting stillness, when from the top 
of the old stove there darted the red flaming 
shaft of a turkey gobbler’s head and neck; then 
came his utterance, sudden, loud, and strong,— 
the most uncouth, unmusical, irreverent of all 
earthly sounds,—“gobble, gobble, gobble, lob- 
ble, lobble, lobblei ” 

We have since learned that one hornet, with 
his business end, is enough to break up a camp¬ 
meeting. We learned, then, that one turkey 
gobbler could say prayers enough in a second 
to make all further devotion impossible to us for 
a week. ’63. 


A COINCIDENCE 


Many of the students saw the old toll bridge 
between Waterville and Winslow carried off by 
the freshet in the autumn of 1869. At once an 
agitation arose for a free bridge. The free 
bridge was favored by most of the people of 
Waterville and vicinity, and by many in Wins¬ 
low, but it was bitterly opposed by the people 
of West Waterville, now Oakland, then a part of 
the town of Waterville. Many meetings were 
held, and party feeling ran high. At length, 
on one Saturday afternoon in the early summer 
of 1870, a town-meeting was called to convene 
at West Waterville. Many of the students went 
out on the special train to see the fun. There 
was no hall large enough to hold the crowd, 
so the voters lined up in the street. A Water¬ 
ville squire was chosen moderator. The result of 
the meeting was not favorable to the free bridge 
movement. The decisions of the moderator 
were thought to be grossly unjust in favor of 
the anti-free bridge people. 


A COINCIDENCE 


175 


That night on their return to Waterville, most 
of the students participated in a serenading party 
at the residence of the offending moderator. 
Suddenly the sound of the college horns and other 
equally musical instruments broke upon the 
stillness of the midnight air, and cheers were 
given for the free bridge and groans for the 
moderator of an anti-free bridge meeting. After 
a little time a member of the family came out 
and startled the serenaders by discharging a revol¬ 
ver in their faces, probably using blank car¬ 
tridges. For a moment there was a complete 
stampede. But “ stone him” was soon the cry, 
and the assailant retired to cover amid a shower 
of stones. The serenade was completed accord¬ 
ing to program, and the serenaders retired in 
good order. At prayers the following morning 
the president read the following passage: 

“Yet ye have not known him; but I know 
him; and if I should say, I know him not, I 
shall be a liar like unto you; but I know him, 
and keep his saying. Then took they up 
stones to cast at him.” 

It was doubtless an undesigned coincidence. 

’72. 


IN MEM OR I AM 


In the class of ’60 there entered a young man 
from Mt. Vernon, Maine, by the name of 
Wiggen. Of athletic frame and apparent 
strength of constitution, he bid fair to become 
the strong man of the class. In another sphere 
he might have proved a long-lived man, and 
this brief and humble memorial need not have 
been written. 

The change of habits from rural, active life 
to that of a student had probably told upon his 
life-springs, and thus weakened he fell an easy 
victim to the first attack of disease. 

A meeting of the Freshman class was called, 
and a delegation chosen, including the writer, 
to attend the funeral. From Readfield the route 
was by stage. The family of the deceased were 
deeply affected by the appearance of his class¬ 
mates and especially by the resolutions pre¬ 
sented. After the exercises at the house, the 
remains were placed upon a simple bier and 
four of us bore them across the rolling fields to 


IN ME MORI AM 


177 


their place of rest. Returning to the house, re¬ 
freshments were furnished, and at the table the 
virtues of Wiggen were freely discussed. 

The event made a lasting impression upon 
the class, which in its exuberance of youth had 
had its first lesson of bereavement. 

Of sterling character and an ambition that 
called him to what he considered the highest 
profession, that of the ministry, his early taking- 
off led us to consider the mysterious ordering 
of Providence. 

Lest the meaning of my words be mistaken, 
let me say, that ’60 is well represented in “ that 
higher calling,”—the ministry. 

This was the only death in the class before 
graduation. ’6o. 

*3 


NIL DE MO R THIS NISI BONUM 


\ 

In order to avoid the semblance of a violation 
of Nil de mortuis nisi bonum , I have omitted 
the names of the parties concerned in this 
episode, at the same time claiming that in 
giving the names the adage would not be vio¬ 
lated. 

It was during the summer of one of the late 
^o’s that a red-cheeked boy, a member of an 
advanced class in college, having been sus¬ 
pended, persisted in violating a rule of the 
college that no suspended student should remain 
on the college premises, and was therefore 
brought into court in Waterville by the president 
of the college. 

The youth in seeking counsel hit upon a law¬ 
yer, an alumnus, and a person who, while he 
treasured in his heart no animosity for the prex, 
had no room for any downright love for him. 
While in college this lawyer was also a lively 
young man, and during his season of greatest 
activity had caused the prex such annoyance 


NIL DE MORTUIS NISI BONUM 179 

that he was frequently remonstrated with and 
these remonstrances and warnings were followed 
by a certain kind of soreness in the mind of the 
future lawyer. 

Having graduated and having earned reputa¬ 
tion enough to be selected as the orator of one 
of our Commencements, he waited patiently for 
the day when he could pay off some of the in¬ 
juries that he imagined he had received from 
what he conceived to be a too close inquiry by 
the professor into his affairs while a student. 

And now his opportunity had come. How 
much more comfortable for the prosecuted stu¬ 
dent was that trial than for the prosecuting presi¬ 
dent ! While the lawyer nobly defended the 
beardless youth, he so managed his questions to 
the prex as to ring in some of the offenses, 
either real or imaginary, of the former professor 
towards himself. 

Questioning him as to whether he thought it 
was a proper way for a president of a college to 
treat a youth entrusted to his care, in the next 
breath he questioned him as to whether his re¬ 
treat down the college steps before a rolling 
stone hurled by the lawyer for defense, was still 
fresh in his memory? 


i8o 


COLBY STORIES 


Evidence pro and con accumulated. Before 
the audience of students and citizens the prose¬ 
cuting president now became an object of pity, 
while the accused student was forgotten. With 
falling tears and quivering lips the Doctor 
essayed to answer, while the sheriff in charge, 
incensed by the flings of the lawyer for defense, 
undertook to intimidate him with threats unless 
he was more merciful. Pale and trembling, 
probably from realizing his responsibility as a 
conservator of the peace, the sheriff, who was an 
exceedingly tall man, rose to his utmost height 
and exclaimed, “ I know my duty, sir.” The 
justice, in order to free the president, declared 
for the prosecution. 

“ Appeal! Appeal! Appeal! Client! ” 
shouted the lawyer for defense; and lawyer, 
sheriff, justice, prosecutor, prosecuted, and as¬ 
sembly were soon upon the street. The trial 
was over and the incident was closed. 

The ruddy-faced boy, so far as is known, did 
not further trouble the prex nor the courts; 
and I doubt if the prex did not shun them as 
zealously as a prosecutor of offending students. 

Of all the parties active in this well-remem¬ 
bered episode, the accused, who has acquired 



nil de mortuis nisi bonUm iSi 

something of a national reputation, is the only 
one living; the sheriff, the prex, his lawyer, the 
justice, and the soldier lawyer, all having passed 
to another sphere of action. Rcquiescant in 
-pace! ’6o. 


ENCOURAGED 


At the Commencement festivities in 1871, the 
world-renowned preacher and evangelist, Rev. 
George F. Pentecost, D. D., even then a rising 
star in the Boston pulpit, preached the annual 
sermon before the Boardman Missionary society. 
In a very eloquent and entertaining after-dinner 
speech on Commencement day, he referred to 
the fact that he had not enjoyed the advantages 
of a collegiate education. He compared him¬ 
self to the poor visitor at the seashore, who 
after his scanty meal of crackers and cheese, 
eaten alone in some retired spot, would come 
around to the veranda of the most fashionable hotel 
and pick his teeth with those who had just par¬ 
taken of the dainty food and costly viands of 
the house. So he, though not a college grad¬ 
uate, esteemed it a great privilege to come 
around and pick his teeth with those who had 
enjoyed the advantages of so noble a college as 
Colby. 

This evidently appealed to the sympathies of 


ENCOURAGED 


183 

one of the students, who stepped up to Mr. 
Pentecost as he was descending the stairs after 
the exercises closed, and with an air of real 
solicitude encouraged him with words to this 
effect, “Never mind. Don’t be discouraged if 
you haven’t been to college. You’ll make a 
man yet if you keep on.” ’72. 


A CURT REJOINDER 


Dr. Champlin as a recitation officer, in the 
main, was admirable. In retort he was quick 
and cutting. The following incident will show 
how severely he could address a student if occa¬ 
sion required : 

It was political economy recitation. 

Dr. Champlin called up A. to recite. He 
recited very well but the Doctor noted that the 
connection was not at all times clear. He 
therefore confronted the student with the unex¬ 
pected information that he was leaving out 
something. 

The student rejoined that he had thumbed 
his book so much that the text was partially 
destroyed. 

“Well,” said the Doctor, “you should have 
thumbed it into your brain by this time—Recite, 
Mr. B.” A. did not thereafter attempt to draw 
on his imagination to supply a worn-out text. 

’6o. 


HIGHER AUTHORITY 


There was once a janitor of Waterville Col¬ 
lege by the name of Martel. He was styled 
the General. 

The writer was president of the Republican 
Club of the college. It was the summer term 
before the election of Lincoln. We wanted a 
place to hold our meetings, and the General, 
who held the keys to the chapel, gave them to 
me. We had held several meetings and the 
convention of the state had been held at Bangor, 
to which we had sent delegates, a student-like 
proceeding. 

Of course we had now acquired considerable 
notoriety as a political organization, and the 
faculty, especially Dr. Champlin, felt in duty 
bound to appraise us of their cognizance of our 
spontaneous patriotism. So, meeting the writer, 
the Doctor said: 

“What are you doing in the chapel? What 
meetings are those?” 

“They are political meetings, sir,—the meet- 


COLBY STORIES 


186 

ings of the Republican Club of Waterville 
College, sir.” 

“ But, how did you get into the chapel? ” 

“ Well, sir, we—we—went in through the 
doors.” 

“ But how did you get the doors open? ” 

“ With the only thing that was ever known to 
open those massive structures—the keys.” 

“ But how did you get the keys? ” 

“Well, sir, the General of the college,— 
General Martel,—gave them to me.” 

“Ah,—but the General of whom you speak 
is not the General of the college.” 

“ But, my dear Doctor—must you suppress 
these sentiments in the minds of us students by 
denying us a place of meeting? ” 

“ Well, but you have not asked me.” 

“ Why should I when General Martel has al¬ 
ready given us the privilege? If you deny his 
authority,—I ask it now.” 

The good Dr. Champlin turned on his heel. 
We had used the chapel, were bound to use it, 
and we used it thereafter without question. 

’6o. 


AN EFFECTIVE “WATER TREATMENT 


It was late autumn in the sixties. 

The tutor in Greek—our pet name for him 
being “Toot”—-was the most upright, down¬ 
right, punctual, accurate, faultless man we had 
ever encountered. Everything about him went 
with the precision of clockwork; every step he 
strode was just as long as every other, and con¬ 
sumed in the making an unvarying number of 
seconds. He never joked, rarely smiled, never 
got in the least irritated or excited. We held 
him in respect, so far as our limited ability in 
that line allowed, but we did not love him. In¬ 
deed, we fancied him quite too cold-blooded to 
ever inspire any such tender feeling towards 
himself, or to exercise it towards any other hu¬ 
man being, even of the opposite sex; but in 
this latter particular we found ourselves mis¬ 
taken. We were certain he had no love for us, 
but we did discover that he made regular noc¬ 
turnal trips beyond the river. Now we “ shad¬ 
owed him,” and found that his long evening 
walks always brought him to a stately farm¬ 
house, the home of an exceedingly sweet and 
winning young lady. 


i88 


COLBY STORIES 


We watched the case with increasing interest, 
and it must be confessed, also, growing exas¬ 
peration. It was by no means clear to us that 
so delicate and beautiful a prize should be won 
by a beau, so old, so rectangular, so puckered 
and forbidding in form and feature, and so freez¬ 
ing, as we supposed, in his inner man. But 
we soon found that in this matter he could rise 
to a temperature past indication by any known 
thermometer. His visits grew more and more 
frequent, and were prolonged far into the 
“small hours” of the morning. 

A class council, resolved into a committee of 
the whole, decided that some speedy and he¬ 
roic treatment must be had, or the case would 
be past cure. In going and coming from the 
envied interviews, he had to traverse a long 
bridge. We found that some of the planks on 
this could be readily removed. A dark, frosty 
night was chosen. We felt tolerably sure of 
the time for his return trip, and we could not 
mistake his well-known step for that of any 
other night wanderer. Our entire class was 
hidden within good hearing distance. Planks 
enough had been torn up to surely let him 
down over water too shallow to drown him, but 


AN EFFECTIVE “WATER TREATMENT” 189 

sufficiently deep to wet him all over. We had 
to wait far longer than we expected, thus get¬ 
ting still more thoroughly convinced that he 
had “ got it bad,” and was in desperate need of 
our “ treatment.” 

At last, when we were ourselves well chilled 
by the biting air, we faintly heard a tread on 
the farther end of the bridge. Every boy took 
the attitude of most eager listening. The 
sound increased into the well-known step,— 
fuller and stronger it grows,—tramp, tramp, 
tramp. We picture in our minds the delightful 
visions which, no doubt, fill his,—the hot thrills 
of joy which run through him as he anticipates 
his wedding-day, his honey-moon, and the full 
consummation of matrimonial bliss. But he is 
nearing his Waterloo. “ The course of true 
love never did run smooth.” We mean it shall 
run into ice-water. Tramp, tramp, tramp. We 
listen with bated breath. 

! ! Ough! Ugh! He'is in it! We 
wait to hear him well on his way to the 
shore, then—save two, whose job it is to re¬ 
place the planks—every mother’s son of us— 
guilty wretches—is in bed as soon as his legs 
will carry him there. ’63. 


A MARTYR TO SCIENCE 


Once upon a time there lived at Colby an 
eccentric genius and rider of hobbies. He had 
many hobbies, and he rode them, sometimes 
singly, sometimes tandem, and sometimes four 
abreast. Nor did he spare whip and spur. In 
whatsoever he took an interest, it was intense 
while it lasted. It might be velocipedes, it 
might be painting in water colors, it might be 
hypnotism, it might be natural history, anatomy, 
chemistry, esoterics, ancient and forgotten lore, 
or what not; but whatever was the fancy of 
the moment, it was sure to be pursued with 
great zeal. Certain of his investigations led 
into by and almost forbidden paths. It was a 
wonder that he was not seized with nervous 
prostration, did not get blown up by explosive 
mixtures, or was not killed in experimenting 
with toxics. 

At one time his fad was a velocipede. This 
was in the day before the safety bicycle, or even 
the lofty ordinary. The bicycle of that time 
was a springless “ bone-shaker ” of wooden 
frame. Our friend possessed one, and he rode 
it like Jehu. While the fever lasted, the bone- 


A MARTYR TO SCIENCE 191 

shaker had all seasons and all hours for its own. 
One of the diversions of its owner was to ride 
through the town at midnight, pursuing a par¬ 
ticular route to a certain point and back. An¬ 
other of his eccentricities was a fondness for 
toads and snakes, of which he often had speci¬ 
mens hopping and crawling about his room, 
that had been captured in country rambles, and 
that sooner or later became unwilling sacrifices 
to the cause of science. 

Having a bent in that direction, this student 
had the medical profession in view, and at one 
period was absorbed in studying the nervous 
system and bony structure of animals. Do not 
imagine that he ever practised vivisection, for 
he was too tender-hearted for that. He wanted 
only dead subjects for experimentation. 

A gaunt, half-starved tramp cat chanced to 
stray upon the campus. The would-be Cuvier 
saw the animal. It occurred to him that he 
needed a cat’s skull in his business. He petted 
pussy, coaxed her up to his room, fed her, and 
caused her to feel quite at home. Presently he 
called a neighbor in to witness the despatch of 
poor tabby. He had an old revolver of small 
caliber and uncertain action, and he proposed 


192 


COLBY STORIES 


that death should be instant and painless. 
“ Now see me shoot her through the heart. 
Kitty, kitty, kitty, here, kitty.” Kitty came up 
unsuspectingly. He took careful aim and fired. 
The ball went through the cat’s body, but 
without striking a vital part, and embedded 
itself in the wall. The wretched beast sprang 
nearly to the ceiling and ran round and round 
the room like a whirlwind, leaping over and 
spinning under furniture,—a gyrating, squalling, 
distracted, and agonized thing. It was a laugh¬ 
able as well as a pitiable sight. The murderer, 
now almost as excited as the cat, followed after, 
firing wildly. Once he hit as the exhausted 
animal halted a moment in her mad flight, but 
more often he missed, until the friend, fearing 
for his own safety, as soon as he was able for 
laughter, snatched the pistol away and placing 
it to the cat’s ear shot her dead. 

“ Now,” said the scientist, in a complaining 
tone, “ you’ve spoiled my skull.” 

There is, or there should be, a certain room 
in South College which bears to this day the 
scars of wounds made by bullets intended for a 
cat that yielded up its nine lives in the cause of 

* 77 - 


science. 



“ Sam ” addressing Graduating Class at “ Last Chapel.” 











INCIDENTS AND ACCIDENTS OE A 
EORMER GENERATION 

BY ONE WHO CAN SAY WITH AENEAS: 

‘ ‘ Quaeque ipse miserrima vidi, et quorum pars Magna 
fui" 

During the years of the Civil War between 
the states, the number of students in Waterville 
College was very small. In the fall of ’64, 
however, a class of twenty-seven entered and 
the following year nearly as many more. Be¬ 
tween these two classes a rivalry that was some¬ 
times rather more than a healthy emulation 
always existed, though often they were found 
pulling earnestly together in establishing a true 
college-spirit; ’68 and ’69 are credited with 
establishing baseball in the college and 
putting a good nine into the field; they also 
gave the name of The Oracle to the college 
annual which prior to ’68 had borne the villain¬ 
ous name of The Watervillian. It was while 


14 


I 94 


COLBY STORIES 


they were on deck that the institution blossomed 
out into Colby University, that the Memorial 
Hall was erected, and that Sam began his illus¬ 
trious career as general charge d affaires. 

The long and successful reign of this most 
important member of the distinguished corps of 
instructors of Colby youth is due mainly to the 
lessons which he received from the class of ’68. 
To be sure, ’69 contributed something in the 
way of discipline. Sam, with the innocence of 
an unsophisticated freedman and with misplaced 
confidence in his “ boys,” undertook the culture 
of turkeys at his home on the north end of the 
campus. That was more than the dignity of 
’69, who had recently shed their tadpole tails, 
could endure. Consequently the head of the 
flock of turkeys one night wandered into one of 
the ’69 rooms in North College and there laid 
down his innocent life. For some unexplained 
reason ’68 was invited to the feast. Probably it 
was in order that the guilt might rest equally 
upon both. At any rate I can testify that both 
classes pronounced it a fine, tender-meated 
turkey and ’68 asked no questions for con¬ 
science’s sake. 

In the class of ’69 was one very industrious 


INCIDENTS AND ACCIDENTS 195 

man who was seldom found engaged in any un¬ 
lawful pursuits. His honest countenance and 
dignified bearing rendered him safe from sus¬ 
picion of having committed any misdemeanor. 
Yet G. is the man who broke into Professor 
Blank’s stable after the family were all in bed 
one night, stole the horse and carriage and took 
his sweetheart to ride. Indue time he returned 
the rig without damage, and left upon the car¬ 
riage seat the following note: “ Will the 

professor please accept my thanks for the use of 
the horse which I have driven moderately for 
about ten miles, the moderate driving being due 
in part to my own inclination, but chiefly to the 
condition of the horse.” To this note he signed 
the name of a good Baptist brother who is now 
pastor of a large church in one of Massachu¬ 
setts’ manufacturing cities. 

When ’68 entered upon their Sophomore 
year they felt the weight of great responsibilities 
resting upon their weak shoulders. They 
thought they owned the college and could keep 
it running only by maintaining a proper defer¬ 
ence for themselves on the part of both faculty 
and students. It was only after a few bitter ex¬ 
periences that they learned the contrary. Among 


COLBY STORIES 


I96 

other tasks a delegation from their number took 
it upon themselves to call upon some of the 
most unsophisticated members of ’69 and smoke 
them out. In one or two cases they met with 
a good degree of success, but in at least one 
instance they caught a Tartar. The victim 
whom they selected evidently enjoyed their 
presence and their tobacco as well. After they 
had filled the room so full of smoke that one 
could hardly see across it, he coolly produced a 
pipe, borrowed some of their tobacco, and 
joined them in a smoke. The fun lasted until 
the Sophomores began to grow white around 
the gills, and one of their number threw up his 
supper. The Freshman afterwards complained 
that a set of fellows should come into his room 
for the purpose of smoking themselves sick to 
the detriment of his new carpet. Though this 
seemed to be a mighty mean way to receive a 
new man into the college, the Sophomores were 
willing to let his version of the affair stand. 

In the sixties the custom prevailed almost 
universally among young men to wear “ plug ” 
hats. The Sophomore class, the self-consti¬ 
tuted guardian of Freshmen morals and manners, 
forbade the latter class to indulge in such orna- 


INCIDENTS AND ACCIDENTS 197 

mental extravagance, and in consequence of this 
prohibition frequent encounters took place be¬ 
tween members of these two classes. It was 
seldom that any blood was shed, but Freshmen’s 
hats were destroyed and sometimes heads were 
bruised. The particular occasion of which I 
write came near resulting in the death of a 
member of the Sophomore class and was only 
prevented by the inefficiency of the weapon 
carried by the rebellious Freshman. 

Mr. R. entered the Freshman class, coming 
from Virginia, and bore the reputation of being 
as hot-blooded as some other Virginians. He 
wore one empty sleeve. Every Sabbath morn¬ 
ing he persisted in wearing a high hat, but 
since he carefully concealed the offensive head- 
gear during the remaining portion of the week 
he went undisturbed for some time. One Sab¬ 
bath morning he set out for church arrayed as 
usual and soon overtook and passed a member 
of the Sophomore class, Mr. B., who walked 
slowly and with the aid of a cane. It seemed 
to Mr. B. as Mr. R. passed that he bore him¬ 
self in an especially offensive manner, giving a 
toss of his head which resembled a challenge. 
At any rate a sudden impulse seized the Sopho- 


198 


COLBY STORIES 


more, who raised his cane and struck the hat so 
sharp a blow as to land it in the ditch. He 
then started to walk off as if nothing had oc¬ 
curred, but hearing the click of a revolver he 
turned about and finding himself uninjured 
trod upon the Freshman’s hat as it lay upon 
the ground, and completely ruined it. At this 
moment he heard the explosion of the revolver 
and felt the lead strike him in the back of the 
head. Turning suddenly, he rushed upon the 
offending Freshman, receiving another shot 
which just grazed his breast. He then severely 
caned Mr. R. and probably would have spoiled 
his countenance but for the presence of other 
students who interfered to separate them. 

This occurred on College street, not far below 
South College. Professor Blank then occupied 
the house nearly opposite the spot where that 
encounter took place. He was evidently mak¬ 
ing his toilet preparatory to going to church, 
but hearing the shouts he looked from his win¬ 
dow and saw what was causing the commotion. 
He rushed upon the scene with one side of his face 
clean shaved and the other covered with lather. 
The students ran from all directions, some dressed 
for church and others decidedly undressed. 


INCIDENTS AND ACCIDENTS 199 

It remains to be said, simply, that the next 
morning both were summarily expelled. 

In the way of practical jokes one member of 
’68 was often the victim. The man in question 
was rather too confiding and too much of a 
temptation at times to some of his fellows. One 
haying season he hired out with a neighboring 
farmer for a week or two, in order to add a few 
dollars to his depleted treasury. He began his 
labors one extremely hot day by swinging a 
scythe through a piece of stout timothy. The 
unaccustomed physical exertion under a boiling 
July sun produced an unusual degree of thirst. 
This he undertook to quench by frequent 
draughts from the jug of cold well water. One 
result of this was a large-sized pain under the 
waistband of his trousers. By the advice of his 
employer he was induced to take a little whiskey 
“ for his stomach’s sake, and his often infirmi¬ 
ties.” The effect was so salutary that the dose 
was repeated with greater frequency than was 
becoming in a member in good and regular 
standing in both the Baptist church and the 
Sons of Temperance. 

To all who kn*ew D. and his loyalty to prin¬ 
ciple it was apparent that the whiskey was taken 



200 


COLBY STORIES 


solely as a medicine, but his employer was a 
young man who loved a joke and could not re¬ 
frain from making capital of the exhilarated 
condition of his student haymaker. The report 
that D. had been indulging in deep potations 
from the flowing bowl was soon circulating freely 
over the campus. It came to the ears of the 
officials in the church and to the brethren in the 
temperance society. Formal charges were filed 
and investigations were begun. The college 
faculty also summoned the offender before their 
august body. On the whole the poor fellow 
began to look upon himself as a blackened sin¬ 
ner, when his classmates came to his rescue with 
such a version of the affair as resulted in his 
acquittal by each of the tribunals before whom 
he had been summoned. It was currently re¬ 
ported, however, that the verdict was copied 
after the somewhat famous one ascribed to a 
Scottish court: “Not guilty, but do n’t do it 
again.” 

This same unfortunate individual bore the dis¬ 
tinction of being the only man in the class who 
wore store teeth. It was his custom each night 
to remove them from his mouth and leave them 
till morning in a tumbler of water. One morn- 


INCIDENTS AND ACCIDENTS 


201 


ing he was very much disturbed by the discov¬ 
ery that his teeth had disappeared while he slept. 
Unless he could recover them without delay, his 
diet until a new set could be obtained must con¬ 
sist mainly of liquid food. Furthermore his 
personal beauty was marred by their absence 
and his articulation seriously and unfavorably 
affected. The latter difficulty was of especial 
moment since his class exhibition was to occur 
the following evening. It was the Junior Exhi¬ 
bition of original articles, and according to the 
custom of those days every man in the class 
was down for a part on the program. 

Now D. was not a remarkably good writer 
and rather an ordinary speaker. The class as a 
whole averaged very well in both the above 
particulars, and some of the ’69 boys were 
wicked enough to insinuate that D.’s own class¬ 
mates had stolen the teeth in order to prevent 
his appearance on the stage, and advised him to 
get even with the perpetrators of the outrage by 
exhibiting himself in his toothless condition. 
This they argued would be the cause of chagrin 
to the guilty offenders. The ’68 men charged 
’69 with having planned and executed the rob¬ 
bery for the express purpose of introducing a 


202 


COLBY STORIES 


new feature into ’68’s exhibition. For a few 
hours the poor man was so besieged that he 
scarcely knew whether he had any friends or not. 
But he finally decided that ’69 was trying to 
play one of their mean games upon him and he 
declined to go upon the stage. 

The following morning the teeth returned 
to their accustomed bath as the venerable old 
Doctor, who then presided over the destinies of 
the college, had smilingly prophesied that they 
would. 


RARE “BEN” BUTLER 













BEN BUTLER IN COLLEGE 


The death of Benjamin Franklin Butler a few 
years ago removed from the stage one of the 
most unique and bizarre figures in American 
public life. A more singular type of character 
is seldom seen even in this land of originals, 
New England. “Rare old Ben” he might have 
been rightly called, for though he had neither 
the learning, nor the “mountain stomach and 
rocky face,” of the bricklayer, soldier, actor, 
duellist, and dramatist, Ben Jonson, yet he was, 
like him, massive and unshapely in body, and 
had a similar strong, crabbed sense, acute ob¬ 
servation, retentive memory, and, above all, 
pugnacity. 

“Ben,” as he was always called, except when 
he was spoken of as a military man, was born 
in the rocky town of Deerfield, New Hampshire, 
on Nov. 5 , 1818 . His paternal grandfather 
fought at Quebec, and also during the Revolu¬ 
tionary War, and his father at New Orleans 


20 6 


COLBY STORIES 


under General Jackson. Bulky as he became 
in middle life, Ben was a mere “ dagger of 
lath ”—a spare, spiritualized being, who could 
distinctly feel and reckon his own ribs—when 
he entered Waterville (now Colby) College in 
1834. At graduation he weighed but ninety- 
eight pounds. He had wished to be educated 
at West Point, but his widowed mother, a de¬ 
vout Baptist, desired that he should be a 
clergyman. Had her desire been gratified, he 
would probably have become a kind of theo¬ 
logical prize-fighter, an ecclesiastical Heenan 
or Sullivan, who would have 

“ Proved his doctrine orthodox 
By apostolic blows and knocks,” 

after the style of that prince of bullies and 
champion of paradoxical opinions, William 
Warburton. 

As Ben entered college a year before I left 
it, when the number of students was not over a 
hundred, I knew him well. Never was a youth 
more emphatically the father of the man. The 
same daring, fearless, inquisitive disposition, 
the same pugnacity and fondness for contro¬ 
versy, the same love of creating a sensation 
and focussing all eyes on himself, the same 


BEN BUTLER IN COLLEGE 20*] 

readiness in espousing, and dexterity in advo¬ 
cating, the wrong or unpopular side of a ques¬ 
tion, characterized him then as in his riper 
life. Into the debates of “The Literary Fra¬ 
ternity,” the college society of which he was a 
very active and conspicuous member, he was 
continually introducing novel or out-of-the-way 
topics or questions, and surprising his asso¬ 
ciates by the subtlety and ingenuity with which 
he maintained the most palpable paradoxes. 
One of these topics, I remember, was “ Mes- 
mer and his Claims,” which Ben championed 
a Voutrance . 

Among the college rules in those days was 
one requiring from the students attendance on 
Sundays on public worship. On a certain 
Lord’s Day one of the college professors 
preached in the Baptist church (where the 
faculty and students worshiped) a sermon 
maintaining that only the elect would be saved 
in the world to come; that probably this num¬ 
ber would not comprise more than one in a 
hundred persons professing to be Christians, 
and that even the heathen would be adjudged 
less guilty than men in Christian lands who 
had sat under the preaching of the gospel, and 


208 COLBY STORIES 

yet had not obeyed its injunctions. As Ben 
listened to these startling statements, a felicit¬ 
ous use of them flashed on his mind, and next 
day he sent to the college faculty a petition 
that he might be excused thenceforth from 
attendance on public worship. He urged that 
the village church had some six hundred wor¬ 
shipers, nine of whom were his revered presi¬ 
dent, professors, and tutors. If only one in a 
hundred of these worshipers could be saved, 
was it not absolutely certain that three members 
even of the college faculty would be damned ? 
Could he himself, then, a humble student, and 
inclined to laxity in his morals, hope by any 
possibility to be saved? Worse than that, 
would not his guilt and condemnation be 
aggravated by every church service he at¬ 
tended? He prayed, therefore, most earnestly, 
to be excused altogether from attendance. 
This characteristic paper, replete with mock 
gravity, was elaborated and copied with great 
care; but the only reply to it was a summons 
to its precocious author to stand up in chapel 
and be reprimanded before the faculty and stu¬ 
dents for irreverence. 

When in his Senior year Butler’s class was 


BEN BUTLER IN COLLEGE 20 9 

studying the “Evidences of Christianity” under 
the leadership of President Pattison, that theo¬ 
logian was greatly surprised by the acuteness, 
skill in logical fence, and learning exhibited in 
Ben’s skeptical objections and questions. Con¬ 
vinced, at last, that these could never have 
originated in a brain so immature as his pupil’s, 
the president sent for Butler’s “ chum,” and, 
expressing his suspicions, asked confidentially 
whether Ben was not cribbing his arguments 
from some infidel book. The answer verified 
the inquirer’s suspicions; whereupon the presi¬ 
dent incontinently took the first stage-coach for 
Boston (a three days’ journey then), bought at 
Burnham’s “Antique Bokestore” a copy of the 
book which was his pupil’s secret arsenal, viz., 
Taylor’s “Diegesis of the New Testament,”' 
studied it all the way home in the stage-coach, 
and after a week’s absence reappeared in the 
class-room, where he anticipated all of Ben’s 
shrewd questions and objections, and replied to 
them triumphantly as soon as they were stated. 
These facts I have narrated, not from hearsay, 
but as they were communicated to me some 
twenty years after their occurrence by Presi¬ 
dent Pattison himself, 
is 


210 


COLBY STORIES 


Of Ben’s less intellectual escapades in college 
—which I think were very few—I know of only 
one. Once, during his undergraduate days, 
the tongue of the college bell disappeared, and 
its dread summons to the pillow-hugging stu¬ 
dent was not heard for a week. Some fifteen 
years afterward, Ben’s college room-mate, whom 
I found keeping a drug store in Springfield, 
Mass., told me that the rogue had shown it to 
him one day, while every hiding place but the 
right one was searched, hidden under a huge 
boulder on the shore of the Kennebec river, 
which bounds the college campus on the east. 


BEN BUTLER AND THE SIGN 


A Farce—In Two Acts 

Scene: —Waterville, Maine. 

Characters : 

Ben Butler, student at Waterville College; time, 1838. 

Senior, ) Friends of Mr. Bluecoat, ) Police- 

Junior, s Butler; Mr. Burleigh, \ men. 

Act the First 

Scene I.—Main street; sidewalk in front of Rice’s 
Grocery Store. 

[Enter Ben Butler and two friends .] 

Ben (looking at new sign before the store 
entrance) .—Great Jehoshaphat! boys, just feast 
your eyes on yonder sign. Say, I admire old 
Rice’s enterprise, but must say I deplore his 
lack of good judgment in putting so much 
money into a business card. 

Senior. —By the way, it occurs to me that 
that sign would look mighty well in my room. 


212 


COLBY STORIES 


I have just space for it over my copy of the 
Constitution. 

Junior .—Sorry to disappoint you, but the 
fact of the matter is, the next function of that 
sign shall be to adorn the wall of my own domi¬ 
cile. I can see it now preaching the doctrine 
of “ Honesty the best policy,” hanging serenely 
between two charming portraits of Jenny Lind 
and Thomas Jefferson. 

Ben. —Now, my dear, devoted friend, it is 
your imagination that paints that picture and 
when you have seen another year of college 
you will know that imagination, though a fas¬ 
cinating painter, is not a reliable one. And 
you, my sympathetic Senior, may as well hope 
to own Fort Halifax as to ever possess old 
Rice’s sign; for the very Constitution of which 
you speak forms a basis for laws which are 
very explicit in dealing with ownership of un¬ 
claimed property. Now, I was the first to 
spy yonder sign, and if you would know some¬ 
thing of the future which awaits it, listen ! To¬ 
night, when friend Rice has counted his day’s 
receipts and hied him homeward, when shadows 
guard the streets and all Ticonic sleeps, a 
stealthy form will glide softly up to this very 


BEN BUTLER AND THE SIGN 


213 


spot, and as stealthily return to the place 
whence it came, and the wisest of the night 
owls will wing back to their silent thickets 
and say to one another that Benjamin Franklin 
Butler has added one more sign to his already 
copious collection. 

Senior. —Your language reminds me of that 
used in your late petition to the faculty, 
asking to be excused from attendance at 
prayers. 

Junior. —Yes, and if Ben can gain posses¬ 
sion of the sign as easily as he demonstrated to 
the faculty that their Calvinistic notions are 
behind the times for an up-to-date theolog like 
himself, I shall yield my claim to the much 
wanted placard at once. 

Senior. —And I gladly acquiesce,—but say, 
lefs run down to the river for a swim. 

Ben. —Wait a minute; do you know you 
should never go into the water after supper! 

Senior and Junior {in chorus'). —Why not? 

Ben. —Well, you won’t probably find it 
there, that’s all. 

\_Bxeunt all.'] 

\_Bnter merchant a?id zvhistles to policeman 
across the street.] 


214 


COLBY STORIES . 


\_Enter policeman, Mr. Bluecoat .] 

Bluecoat. —Good afternoon, Mr. Rice. 

Rice .—Well, it comes pretty blamed near 
being anything but a good afternoon for me, 
that’s what it does. 

Bluecoat. —Burglars blown your till, or 
something wrong in politics? 

Rice. —Neither one. You see it’s this way. 
Sales have been good for the last fortnight, 
they have, and I said to myself, said I, I ought 
to be willing to put a little portion of my 
profits into a brand new sign, one that’ll beat 
anything on the street. And so I had one 
painted, I did; not very large, but mighty 
pretty and mighty showy, and now to have to 
lose it, it comes mighty hard, it does. 

Bluecoat. —It seems to me your sign is still 
hanging safe and sound. 

Rice. —Yes, yes, it’s hanging sound enough, 
and that’s the reason it isn’t safe. You see, 
the carpenter who put it up put it up to stay : 
so you see I can’t take it inside over night. 

Bluecoat. —So you mean to say your sign 
is n’t safe outdoors in the night. Surely, you 
do n’t expect the frosts to affect those delicately 
colored letters. 


BEN BUTLER AND THE SIGN 


215 


Rice .—No, but some young chaps just 
passed along here and stopped to view the 
painting, they did, and if I ain’t mistaken there 
was mischief in their eyes. And it came over 
me all at once, it did, that my sign was too 
attractive. I reckon some way or other that 
my sign is as good as stolen, unless I hire a 
man to watch it. 

Bluecoat. —Ah ! a bright thought strikes me. 
There have been numerous complaints made 
lately by merchants who have lost signs, and 
several clues have led us to suspect students 
up at the college. But we have never been able 
to catch any one at the act Now, Mr. Rice, 
with your permission, I will come down and 
conceal myself inside your store this evening 
and watch your sign. Perhaps something will 
develop. Will you give your permission, Mr. 
Rice? 

Rice. —Yes, siree. You have not only my 
permission but my prayers also. I shall 
depend upon you to be on hand to-night when I 
lock up, I shall. 

[Four hours later Mr. Bluecoat enters and 
roes within store. Mr. Rice locks store. 
Exit Mr. Rice.~\ 


216 


COLBY STORIES 


[ Three hours later , Ben Butler 

softly .] 

\_Books inside store and sees Bluecoat sit¬ 
ting in chair asleep.] Aha! Mr. Policeman, 
excuse me if I turn my back on you. [ Pro¬ 
duces a screwdriver from his -pocket and 
begins work on sign.] You see, I am not 
absolutely sure whether you are asleep or not. 
If you are not, then I don’t care for you to see 
my face; if you are, why, you might wake up, 
so I will work quickly. To tell the truth, I sup¬ 
pose I would run away if you said so. Any¬ 
way,—I am merely waiting for a sign. \_Re- 
moves last screw and takes down sign. Turns 
and faces window just as policeman awakes 
and looks up. Exit Ben with sign.'] 

[.Bluecoat fumbles at key-hole for some 
time but finally opens door and hastily glances 
up the street.] Confound the plaguy lock! 
I’ve lost thief, sign, and all. But I recognized 
you, you rascal, and I’ll get satisfaction to-mor¬ 
row. Ben Butler, your goose is cooked ! 


[ Curtain.] 


BEN BUTLER AND THE SIGN 


217 


ACT II 

Room 18, Chaplain Hall, Waterville College. 

[Rather meagerly furnished room ; open fireplace on 
one side; on wall are several signs with such inscriptions 
as “ Royal Baking Powder,” “ Sanford’s Ginger,” “Dress¬ 
making,” “ Keep Off,” etc. A mouse sits quietly on the 
table crunching a leaf from Milton’s “ Paradise Lost.” 
Steps are heard outside ; mouse slips into a hole in the 
corner.] 

[.Enter Ben Butler , Senior , and Junior. 

Senior .—And so you will not yield on the 
flag question? 

Ben. —Never! Merely because the Whigs 
have succeeded in barely electing a governor, 
every Whig in college thinks he must make 
himself out a fool by shouting and frantically 
waving his arms like a maniac. If the college 
Whigs represented sufficient money, it might 
be well for them to purchase an automatic 
dummy which might be made to keep its hat in 
the air all the time. Thus they might have a 
sort of continual celebration without any espe¬ 
cial effort on their own part. I have noticed 
that a Whig is happiest when doing nothing 
and talking much. 

Junior .—But the flags were private— 


2l8 


COLBY STORIES 


Ben. —Oh, bosh ! Private nothing. I did n’t 
approve of the flags being flown for such a pur¬ 
pose, so I hauled them down; being sighted 
and pursued by the Whig Vigilance Committee, 
I ran to the river bank, swam the Kennebec, 
leaving my political ill-wishers on this side. 
Once across, all was well. The precious ban¬ 
ners are in a good place, safe from hostile 
hands, and they will never help to celebrate a 
Whig victory by floating over the campus of 
any college where I am a student. Just paste 
that in your hat, and you will be able to give 
at least one good point to any inquiring Whig 
you may chance to meet. 

Senior .—Great Scott! Ben, you are getting 
to be a hotter Democrat than Andrew Jackson 
himself. I suppose you will keep the flags to 
decorate your desk when you get appointed 
justice of the peace in some one-horse hamlet? 

Ben. —No. Whenever the great and glorious 
faculty shall see fit to set me free, I shall— 
Junior (looking out window ).—Hook it! 
boys. Here come two police up the walk; I 
wonder what I have done ! 

Ben (jumping from his seat). —Well, I’ll 
tell you what you’ve done; you’ve got me to 


BEN BUTLER AND THE SIGN 219 

talking politics till I ’ve neglected proper pre¬ 
cautions for my much cherished sign. I have a 
feeling that these knights of the law have de¬ 
signs upon No. 18. {Locking the door.') 

Senior. —What are you going to do ? 

Ben. —Keep quiet, and see if the new-comers 
intend to disturb the quiet of our private parlor. 
[A knock outside. J^tiietncss reigns within. 
Ben and Senior converse in whiskers .] 

Ben. —Very polite, to say the least. 

[.Another knock .] 

Ben. —No use, my friend, nobody at home. 

\_Still another rafii] 

Ben. —“Anon, anon ! I pray you, remember 
the porter! 

Bluecoat {outside). —Open up, Butler; I 
have to see you. 

Senior. —Remember, Ben, he is an officer of 
the law. 

Ben. —Oh, I do n’t question his authority, 
but have some doubt about his jurisdiction. 

Bluecoat {outside). —This has gone far 
enough. Open the door, or we will break it in. 

Ben. —Gee! theNplot thickens. 

Senior. —You know Ticonderoga fell! 


220 


COLBY STORIES 


Ben. —This is no history exam.; rather, a 
strategy conference. 

Senior. —I was just wondering whether there 
might not be some analogy between Ticon- 
deroga and your door, but— 

Bluecoat {outside). —Ten seconds more, and 
we come through ! 

Ben —Boys, a great idea ! Put those signs 
on the fire, and be quick. 

[ The boys obey quietly and quickly . Ben 
commences to -prayi\ 

O Lord, we are thankful for these past few 
minutes of silent prayer. Inspiring and helpful 
indeed are the cool, calm, thoughtful moments 
thus spent in silent communion with a Power 
whose dictates transcend all earthly commands. 

Bluecoat {listening outside). —Great guns! 
they are holding a prayer-meeting. The law is 
on our own shoulders if we make any distur¬ 
bance. 

Ben {continuing). —We are thankful that 
we are privileged to become educated in a 
country of free thought; we are thankful that 
our college is one where we may hold religious 
services at all times and in all places; and wilt 


BEN BUTLER AND THE SIGN 


221 


thou give long life to that inspiring and benefi¬ 
cent law which provides that lowly, humble 
students be left free, undisturbed, and unmo¬ 
lested to carry on their devotional services in 
such manner as to be most conducive to their 
physical as well as to their spiritual welfare. 
(In whisper.) I say, boys, can’t you make 
that fire burn faster? (Boys add kindling; 
signs blaze up briskly. Ben takes courage 
and continues .) We are thankful that we 
know how to pray not only importunely but 
opportunely; that we know not only what to 
pray for but when to pray. (In whisper.) Great 
blazes!* punch up that fire; I can’t pray all 
night. (Continuing.) We are thankful for 
this glorious country in which we live; 
wilt thou be with those who govern it; wilt 
thou be with those in charge of our state and 
our county and our own beloved town; bless 
our town officers and give them strength; bless 
the noble and courageous men on our police 
force; give them the fullest possible measure of 
success consistent with their ability. (In whis¬ 
per.) Burn those splinters and scatter the 
ashes a bit. (Continuing.) Wilt thou bring 
success to our merchants; especially to our 



222 


COLBY STORIES 


grocers, whose interests are so closely identified 
with our own living; may they not be over¬ 
confident of wealth nor mistake increase of bus¬ 
iness for a sign of prosperity, for the sign may 
turn out one of adversity. 

Senior (in whisper). —There, the signs are 
burned ; now cut it short, lest our prayer-meet¬ 
ing lose its charm. 

Ben (continuing) .—O Lord, in these days 
of exactness and unequivocation there are those 
who would misinterpret our motives and deeds 
and pounce upon us on the slightest provoca¬ 
tion. Teach us to apply the scriptures to this 
new condition and to say to them, “Depart 
thence, thou wicked and perverse generation; 
ye who seek for a sign, but no sign shall be 
given you.” We ask and offer all this in the 
light of the fact that our doubts and fears have 
been subjected to the fire that consumeth full 
fast and well, and that in the ashes of the 
conflagration we see the peace and joy that 
becometh honest men. Amen. 

\_Pause of few minutes , then light knock is 
heard at the door.~\ 

Ben. —Come ill. ( Unlocks and opens door.) 

[Enter Bluecoat and Burleigh .] 


BEN BUTLER AND THE SIGN 


223 


Biuccoat. —Mr. Butler, you are charged with 
the larceny of a sign, and I have here a war¬ 
rant to search your room. 

Ben. —Well, I ’ll warrant you do n’t search a 
great deal until I see the complexion of your 
document. 

Bluecoat {-producingzvarrant ').—Be quick ! 
my time is precious. 

Ben .—I see; that’s characteristic of your 
profession. (Reads doaiment very deliber¬ 
ately ). Well, that has a certain semblance of 
authority; I guess if you proceed to examine 
my effects, there won’t be any serious draw¬ 
backs. But, say, if you happen to run across 
that sign, do n’t forget to call my attention to 
it; I am curious to know how it looks. 

[Senior and Junior exeunt , smiling com¬ 
prehensively. Police begin search, with ex¬ 
clamations of mingled anger and contempt. 
Ten minutes later they stop work, with labors 
unrewarded .] 

Bluecoat .—I am forced to say, Mr. Butler, 
that a careful search of your room has failed to 
bring to light the stolen article. Courtesy de¬ 
mands us, as public officers, to express our re¬ 
grets at having to cause you undue trouble. 


224 


COLBY STORIES 


Good day! [Exeunt, thinking that they 
would rather lose their -positions than suffer 
again the humiliation of being outwitted by a 
college boy. As they disappear down the 
walk , Ben seats himself at the table to pre¬ 
pare a theme on The Probable Effect on the 
Eighteenth Century had Ccesar never crossed 
the Rubicon .] 


THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT 


Ben Butler lay back in his easy chair and 
watched the cloud of blue smoke circle up to 
the ceiling. He was thinking, and thinking seri¬ 
ously. 

“Oh, mighty!” he exclaimed aloud, “what 
a fool a cultivated fool is! Yes, come in.” A 
hard knock sounded on his door. 

At the summons from within, a round-faced, 
happy-go-lucky fellow, twenty years of age or 
upwards, kicked open the door and swaggered 
in. 

“ Well,—” he looked over at Ben who stood 
gazing out the window, apparently unmindful 
that he had summoned in a “ chum in North.” 

“Well, I say, why don’t you say how d’ye 
do to a gentleman?” 

“Just show me one,” retorted Ben, then con¬ 
tinued, “ sit down, man, sit down. Jim tell you 
to happen around?” 

“Sure,” rejoined Jordan, surveying the room 
16 


226 


CO LB Y STORIES 


and its occupant critically. “Now what the old 
boy is up? In the toils again; eh?” 

“Now I’ll tell you,” began Ben, “I’m in 
about the worst fix a man can be in and still 
continue to keep his identity. Now that I’m 
in I want to get out. That’s all natural enough, 
isn’t it? Well, to come to the point; in order 
to get out we’ve got to have another blowout. 
My whole life depends upon it.” 

“A blowout!” exclaimed Jordan in amaze¬ 
ment. “Yes, I think my life would rfc-pend 
upon it also. Why, are you crazy, man? Didn’t 
we have one last week? Didn’t I blow out the 
last cent I had? Did n’t we both agree not to 
have another until the end of this term?” 

“El Jordan, remember this, we’re to have a 
time to-morrow night in this room, at half-past 
seven; you are to be here, likewise Mark and 
Jim and John.” The unconquerable Ben brought 
his fist hard down upon the little square table 
before him. “But,” he continued after a pause, 
“it isn’t going to be a real jovial feast, only just 
fixed up for the occasion, you know.” 

“ I can stand all the blows and buffets of this 
world,” rejoined El, “ but I can’t stand guff. 
Imagine yourself having an unreal drunk ! Ah ! 


THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT 22j 

my friend, there ’s too much reality in you for 
that.” 

“ I ask you to be serious, El. Will you?” El 
lengthened out his face, rolled his eyes about, 
crossed his arms, in all the dejectedness of an 
unsuccessful suitor. 

“ You can take this as a joke if you wish, but 
if you ever want to rid yourself of a girl, you ’ll 
readily see that it is no joke, after all.” 

“ Whew-w-w,” whistled Jordan, aroused to 
the true situation. “ So you’ve really tired of 
Louisa? Well! well! well!” 

“ Apparently. Louisa Green is Louisa Green, 
or was the last day I saw her. Ben Butler is 
Ben Butler, no matter what he came near being. 
Her dad is a gritty old radicalist and I doff my 
hat to no man meaner. I could ship Louisa 
easy enough, engagement or no engagement, 
but—” Butler was not a man to be blocked ; no 
fetters could shackle him,—“ but the crabbed 
old sculpin dares to oppose me.” He paced 
the room for a moment, growling like a lion 
balked of his prey. El watched him with appar¬ 
ent interest, for this was one of the times when, 
as Jordan said, “ Ben’s hair rose as bristles, and 
his fingers cracked like claws.” 


228 


COLBY STORIES 


Ben stopped before El’s chair, and smiling 
complacently, said, “ Never yet have I been 
caught where I could n’t extricate myself. My 
way is clear. Bah ! old sculpin Green !” 

“ Winds change,’* suggested Jordan. “A few 
days ago you were standing up here in this very 
room crying like a peanut-vender, ‘ Behold my 
future father-in-law; the man of men who be¬ 
lieves in no tobacco, no rum : now look at me ! 
Gentlemen, you have now seen the two poles of 
this earth ! ’ Now it’s another song, ‘the gritty 
old radicalist, the crabbed old sculpin.’ Woe ! 
woe ! Verily ! verily ! Consistency thou art—” 

“ Look here,” snapped Ben, “ are you to be 
in my room to-morrow night at half-past seven 
to join in freeing me from thraldom?” 

“Nothing to drink, eh?” 

“Your face not welcome here now will be 
very welcome at the time I have specified. 
That’s all I wanted, so out with you !” And 
El, the slave, slipped out the door into the hall¬ 
way. 

Butler heard him as he leaped up the stairs 
to his room sing a two-line song that savored of 
Jordan, coupled with extempore work. 

This was it: 


THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT 22<) 

“ Oh, Ben Butler of the tribe of Benjamin, 

Ye cause every sucker of us all to sin.” 

Butler laughed. “‘Truth . . . needs no 

flowers of speech,’ ” he flung after him. 

Ben put on his coat and gloves, picked up his 
cane from the corner, and presently came out of 
his room and stood upon the steps of old North 
College, a very respectable and innocent look¬ 
ing fellow indeed. He stood there sometime, 
pounding his cane against the walls of the brick 
building, looking out over the campus. Two 
Sophs strolled past and saluted him, “ Going 
calling, Ben?” He felt a bit vexed at being 
interrupted. “A cane and gloves prophesy a 
call, likely?” he answered evasively. The Sophs 
laughed, mumbled something Ben could not 
understand, and walked on, while Ben resumed 
his whistling where he had left off. 

The lights from the dormitory windows shone 
out over the stretch of green. The small elms 
and maples cast their shadows on the tall uncut 
grass beneath them. Ben sauntered out across 
the lawn. He was still thinking, this time aloud. 
“ If I go call on her to-night, stay long enough 
to invite the old man up to call on me to-mor¬ 
row night, then get the boys promptly around 


230 


COLBY STORIES 


and give the old crab a scare that he wont soon 
forget, he ’ll come to terms, break the engage¬ 
ment, no doubt of it, then I ’ll—use judgment 
next time. Well,” he struck the cane impa¬ 
tiently against his trouser leg, looked back at 
his dark room in the corner of old North Col¬ 
lege, quickly turned in the direction of the town, 
and, as he sauntered off through the trees, fin¬ 
ished a broken sentence,—“ here goes !” 

Readers who can recall anything of the life 
and character of the distinguished Benjamin F. 
Butler, will remember him as a man of indom¬ 
itable courage, stubbornness, and dexterity. 
These same traits that so characterized him in 
his later life were the ruling powers of his col¬ 
lege days. He would not go back, right or 
wrong. 

Enamoured of a pretty country girl he had 
gained the consent of her parents and had be¬ 
come engaged. Now he had tired of her, and 
cast about him for a means of freeing himself. 

Her father was a white-haired old fellow of 
some sixty years, a radical temperance man, a 
despiser of tobacco, and a deadly foe to any 
form of gambling. It goes without saying, that 
in order to win the affections of the fair daugh- 


THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT 23 1 

ter, especially the good will of the irritable old 
man, this hasty college youth had been playing 
a shrewd game. So well had he succeeded, 
however, that the father had come to look upon 
him as a model youth, far above the pipe that 
tempts and the bowl that lures. 

It was six o’clock by the marble timepiece 
that ticked loudly on Ben’s mantle, when Jim, 
Mark, El, and John pounded vigorously on the 
door and were admitted. 

The interior presented an appearance quite 
in contrast with the generally well arranged col¬ 
lege room. The big oakwood table had been 
dragged into the centre of the room and four 
straightbacked chairs circled the board. At 
each of the four sides a tall black bottle with 
glass had been placed, while in the centre of the 
table there was a massive tobacco box with its 
contents protruding beneath the cover; assorted 
pipes were strewn over the table surface; over 
in one corner of the room books, hats, papers, 
coats, boxes, and what-not were piled; large 
colored pictures of George Washington and 
other notables dangled from the ceiling; the 
right hand corner of the room near the smould¬ 
ering open fire contained pillows and bed- 


232 


COLBY STORIES 


spreads,—in fact, everything within that room 
seemed tipsy. It was as if a mighty wind had 
swept through the feasting den of the devil him¬ 
self. A strange smell of New England rum, 
musk, and tobacco pervaded the atmosphere. • 

The boys walked about, held their noses and 
made sport of one another in their vain attempts 
to fully enjoy the situation. Ben was still mas¬ 
ter of the occasion. He suggested changes 
here and there that would add a new appear¬ 
ance to the already crazy abode, lighted a lamp 
that threw a mournful and sickly gleam over 
this newly found Hades, then peeked out the 
side of the window-shade. 

“ Gee ! boys. ‘ Hail! the conquering hero 
comes! ’ Now, Ben Butler, play well your 
part! ” So saying he pulled off his coat, threw 
off a shoulder strap, laid bare his bosom, 
dangled his collar at the back of his neck, 
kicked one shoe into the corner, just as a cau¬ 
tious walk sounded on the stone steps outside. 
Ben threw himself upon the pillows and prac¬ 
tised a few “hies.” “ He-ic ! he-ic ! ” He 
sounded about perfection. The other boys 
took their places at the table and proceeded to 
become intensely interested in a card-game. 


THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT 


233 


A footfall sounded softly in the hallway; 
the cane rung gratingly on the dusty wood 
floor; then another footfall. 

A pause. Silence. 

Ben changed his position that he might get 
a better view of the door,—and thought of 
Louisa Green. 

Rap ! tap ! tap ! 

The curtain had arisen; the program was 
now on. 

“ Hal-loo ! ” thundered Ben, “ who ’s, hic- 
er-hic ! that thic-there, eh? ” 

“Mr. Joshua N. Green, sir. Is Mr. Benja¬ 
min F. Butler within ? ” . 

“ Guess, hie ! he is, all right. Josh, he-ic ! 
boys. Josh’n I, boys, he-ic ! Let him, hie ! 
in, boys. Josh, come in, hie ! ” 

Mark turned the light lower and opened the 
door. Clouds of blue tobacco smoke swept 
through the door and into the face of the old 
man. Joshua gasped slightly, and put his 
hand to his eyes. 

“ Come in,” urged Mark, taking him cor¬ 
dially by the arm. “ Ben’s inside here ; wants 
to see you,—need of you.” 

Then Joshua N. Green was ushered in. 


234 


COLBY STORIES 


The lamp wick was turned slowly up by Jim 
and the room assumed its former appearance 
of tipsiness. Ben pulled the spread closer 
about his face and pushed his head further into 
the feather pillow. Joshua stood for a moment 
where Mark had left him, gazing strangely from 
the table where the boys were busily tossing 
cards and tipping glasses, to the couch where 
the pride of Louisa hiccuped at proper intervals 
and murmured lavish greetings upon the vis¬ 
itor; then his eyes took a wild survey of the 
entire room, at the pictures which dangled 
from the ceiling above him, at the rubbish cor¬ 
ner, at the table; at last his two drooping eyes 
fell upon the apparently prostrate form of Ben 
Butler. 

“ Be-sith-ed ! ” ordered Ben, feebly motioning 
Green towards a chair in the opposite corner. 
“ Be sith-ed ! I ’m down, hie ! all right. Eh? ” 

The old man, nonplussed, dropped weakly 
into the chair that one of the boys pushed 
towards him. There he sat, his mouth closed 
tight, one hand gripping the side of his chair, 
the other grasping firmly his cane as if for sup¬ 
port—and gazed straight into vacancy. 

" Ha ! Ha ! Hie ! Hie ! He-ic ! ! Wake up, 


THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT 235 

Josh! I say. What d’ ye see,—snakes?” Ben 
clawed the air wildly for a moment, and yelled 
like a true maniac, “ Take ’em away—hie! 
Take ’em away ! urgh ! ” Butler quieted him¬ 
self, then continued, “Give ’im a drink, boys, 
hie ! Cocktail, ginger-hic !-root, ’n pep’mint, 
you know, hie ! Jus’ cheer ’im up, you know, 
hie ! Don’ be bashful, ’t all.” Then he pointed 
to the pictures on the ceiling, “My ’lustrious 
ancestors, hie ! Josh. Bow to ’em, hie ! ” 

Mr. Green turned his eyes slowly towards the 
speaker. The boys at the table had been very 
quiet till Ben had finished and the role had had 
its full applause. A tragi-comedy was now to 
be enacted. Butler had planned to have the 
first scene convince the old man beyond all pos¬ 
sible doubt that Louisa’s suitor was actually 
drunk; scene the second was intended to 
frighten the old fellow out and home. 

Mark rose from his chair, leaned over the 
table towards Jim and yelled fiendishly, “ Put 
that card down, and now! You cheat! You 
half-drunken bubble ! Put it down, I say ! ” 

“ Mind your own affairs, will you ? ” returned 
Jim angrily, “ I will put it back when I please,— 
not before.” 


236 


COLBY STORIES 


“ You will, will you? We’ll see.” So speak¬ 
ing, he made a wild dive for the cards in Jim’s 
hand, sprawling the length of the table, and 
knocking every glass, bottle, box, and card into 
a broken heap upon the floor. Jim rose as 
quickly and knocked Mark upon Jordan, who, 
thereupon awake to the situation, proceeded to 
do up Mark and John. 

For a few minutes pandemonium reigned 
supreme. Every article in the room was tipped 
over, and Ben was dragged from his couch out 
into the arena where the boys held a typical 
Irish wake-feast. 

Ben did not lose sight of the old man. As 
the quarrel began the old fellow shifted positions 
slightly, and turned his eyes from Butler to the 
boys at the table. As the disturbance increased 
and his position behind the chair was threat¬ 
ened, he moved hastily towards the door. When 
he had got a firm grasp on the knob he raised 
his cane and shook it threateningly at Butler. 
Then he opened the door and backed out. The 
noise within ceased lest it attract a crowd 
without. 

“ Cheer up, hie ! Josh. Be neigh’bly. Good- 
by, Josh; good-by, hie! hie! he-ic! ” And 
the door closed with a bang. 


THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT 237 

Ben was on his feet in an instant, the lock in 
the door was turned, and in five minutes’ time 
the room presented its old-time appearance. 
Four boys sat around a study-table, reading and 
laughing at intervals, while the abominable 
smell of rum, musk and tobacco crept out of 
three open windows. 

The following morning Mark, who had come 
up early from the post-office, handed Ben a 
letter. Butler tore off the end, smiling com¬ 
placently the while, and read the letter within. 
Then he threw it over to Mark, saying: 

“ ‘ Oh, such a day, 

So fought, so follow’d, and so fairly won !’” 

Mark read aloud : 


Waterville, Maine, 1844. 

To Benjamin F. Butler: 

Sir: Have found you out. Mistake in date, was it? 
I hereafter forbid you entering my house and having any 
further acquaintance with my daughter. The engagement, 
unhappily made, is broken for all time. 

Joshua N. Green. 


P. S. Read Rom. 6: 23. 


238 


COLBY STORIES 


Whether governor of the old Bay State or 
major-general in the Civil War,—yes, or win¬ 
ner of hearts of the lassies of his early col¬ 
lege days,—Ben Butler stands peerless to-day. 

THE END 




D. C. HEATH & CO. 

PUBLISHERS. 


Mathematics. 

Science. 

History. 

French. 

Spanish. 


English. 

Economics. 

Sociology. 

German. 

Italian. 


BOSTON. 


HO Boylston Street. 


NEW YORK. 


CHICAGO. 


LONDON. 






Text Books of W M M 
the American Book Co. 

received 

Two Grand Prizes and Three Medals at 
the PARIS EXPOSITION of 1900 

For Superior Text Books in 

Elementary Education, Grand Prize. 

Secondary Education, Grand Prize. 

Industrial and Commercial Education, 

Gold Medal. 

Agricultural Education, Silver Medal, 

Higher Education, Silver Medal. 

A flattering recognition of the fact that the most 
superior text-books in subject-matter, in point of liter¬ 
ary and pedagogical merit and in mechanical excel¬ 
lence for all grades of educational work—Colleges, 
Preparatory Schools, High Schools, and Common 
Schools, are to be found in the catalogue of the 

American Book Company. 


New York. Cincinnati. Chicago. Boston. 


Atlanta. Portland, Oregon. 


The Engraving, Printing, and Binding 


OF THIS BOOK WAS 
DONE ( BY THE 

Rumford 

Printing 

Company 

NO. 4 BRIDGE ST., 


CONCORD, X. II., 

IN ITS FULLY EQUIPPED 


iElectroty>ping, Engraving, 
printing BtnMng plant. 


Estimates cheerfully furnished for every variety 
of Fine Book and Job work. 


BOOKS FOR ALL COLLEGE MEN. 


Cap and Gown Series. 

(trade mark.) 

Cap and Gown in Prose. 

(trade mark.) 

Edited by R. R. Paget with a frontispiece by Frank 
T. Merriel. 

i vol., crown i6mo, cloth.$1.25 

Cap and Gown. 

(trade mark.) 

•First Series. Selected by J. R. Harrison, com¬ 
prising a selection of the best verse which has ap¬ 
peared in twenty-seven of the leading college journals 
during the past ten or fifteen years. 

1 vol., crown i6mo, cloth.$1.25 

Cap and Gown. 

(trade mark.) 

Second Series. A selection of college verse of the 
past five years, chosen and arranged by Frederic 
Lawrence Knowees. 

1 vol., crown i6mo, cloth, gilt top . . . $1.25 

“ Cap and Gown,” first and second series, are boxed 
in uniform binding if desired. Price . . $ 2.50 

FOR SALE EVERYWHERE. 


L. C. PAGE & COMPANY, 

BOSTON. 



m PIECES . FOR. PRIZE 


SPEAKING . CON 

TESTS * ® * * 

. A collection of over 
• flC’ffff one hundred pieces 
which have taken 
prizes in prize 
speaking contests 

^ th by ®' N ^ 




Coopr 

Institute 


msmmmmri 


8MsM$SS®8®SM 


T ranslations 

Literal, 50c. Interlinear, $1.50. 147V0IS. 

Dictionaries 

German, French, Italian, Spanish, 
Latin, Greek, $2.00, and $1.00. 

Completely Parsed Caesar, 

Book I, Mason each page, interlinear 
translation, literal translation, and 
every word completely parsed. $1.50. 

Completely Scanned and Parsed Ae- 
neid t Book I* $1.50. ReadyAugusty\ goo. 

HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers, 

4-5-6-12-13-14 Cooper Institute, N.Y. City. 

Schoolbooks 0/ all publishers at one store. 


Completely Parsed Caesar 

Gallic War, Book I. 

BY REV. JAMES B. FINCH, M. A., D. D. 

CLOTH— $ 1.50 PoSTPAI D— 400 PAGES. 

The Latin words in the Latin order just as 
Caesar wrote them : with the exact literal 
English equivalent of each Latin word directly 
under it {interlined); and with a seco■ d. elegant 
translation in the margin: also with Footnotes 
in which every wot d is completely parsed , and 
ail construciions explained, with References to 
the leading Latin grammars. Each page com¬ 
plete—Latin text, interlinear literal transla¬ 
tion, marginal flowing translation, parsing- 
all at a glance without turn ng a leaf! 

Completely Scanned and Parsed Aeneid, I. Ready August, 1900. 

HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers, 
4=5.6-12-13=14 Cooper Institute, N. Y. City. 

Schoolbooks of all publishers at one store. 


A WELCOME GIFT IN ANY HOME 



SONGS OF ALL THE COLLEGES 


Everyone likes a college song, and this book is an 
ideal gift to place on the piano for one’s friends to 
enjoy, even though one sings not at all himself 

CLOTH, IN TASTEFUL DESIGN FOR CHRISTMAS OR BIRTHDAY 
All the NEW songs -$1 50 postpaid- All the OLD songs 

AT ALL BOOK STORES and MUSIC DEALERS 

or sent on approval by the Publishers 

HINDS & NOBLE, 4 14 Cooper Institute, New York City 

Schoolbooks of all publishers at one store 


























SILVER, BURDETT & COM¬ 
PANY’S NEW BOOKS 


THE HEART Op THE ANCIENT WOOD $1 . 50 

By Charles G. D. Roberts 

One of the most fascinating novels of recent days . . . 
refreshingly pure in its atmosphere.— Boston Herald. 


THE DURE OF STOCKBRIDGE $I . so 

By Edward Bellamyr 

A story of the great revolt of the debtor farmers of Mass¬ 
achusetts against their oppressive creditors and the 
cruel courts in 1786. It combines an intensely dramatic 
romance with a human problem which stirs perpetual 
sympathy. 


LATEST PUBLICATIONS from our list of TEXT¬ 
BOOKS for HIGH SCHOOLS and COLLEGES 

THE SILVER SERIES OF MODERN LANGUAGE TEXT-BOOKS. 

Edited by Adolphe Cohn, I V L. B., A. M., Columbia University. 

WHITE’S BUSINESS LAW, by Thomas Raeburn White, B. L,., 
EL-B., University of Pennsylvania; with an introduction by 
Prof. Roland P. Fanlkner, Ph. D., University of Pennsylvania. 

MACCOUN’S HISTORICAL CHARTS OF THE UNITED STATES. 

Twenty charts, 38x40 inches, containing 26 progressive maps 

with supporter..$15.00 

Ancient and Classical World, 17 charts, with supporter,....$15.00 
Mediaeval and Modern Europe, 19 charts with supporter—$15.00 


A full line of text-books for ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS. 
Send for catalogue. 

SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY 


Boston 


New York 


Chicago 













A 9 .., " 

1 :JBfc ^ * 

»v. * v *^ - 




% J 

l 




« *u* : 

•$. •.ot; a> v '^ '.®ffs.° y % °o 

XD 'O'l* A «<** ,Cr -O**- ^> 

^ ^O 0 ° M 0 # <J> fJV ^ t # d <JyV 0 O N o 

r sa<* % « 0 ,*>a^>% A *• 

* 


* o 

<** ^ 




o V" 


o 

■> O' 


5 V 





*°*%. 

>• ^y° ^ -IT-i"' -^‘ c ^/, ^»^»° ^ 9 ; *•,->• 

4 * *ViV^* A * •VfifcV. ^ A* ,!*&?/£• 4 





« • 

* # s 'V ° 



vw* : 

* # % ' 


*$* &> 



> -» >^IUIIII£^/ o ^ ^ 6 7///'to^\\V • 

^ • 

v «> ^fm^dsr •* a v 

<. ''■• 5 1 A 

V\ 0 ° ,‘i^r '°o ^ ^ 

" ^o - * ; 4 PS: '’fe# ; 

•’V. v®v V^V v- 

* ***: \/ #£§: ;*«** ^ * 
^ * * * yv * <* >5?7 f* G* ^ * *o . , * 4 A 

^ O J G e o W O ^ !^> /vV *1- 1 6 A ”5 rONO 

A •4s4SX\ <" ^ /*V e* - - - ^ o ^ 

N <, < 5 ^\\VSk* ^ 

; ^ o^ 

' y °- 

K c\ * 



S’: f 

>o \0 v\ 




r'Ov 





> - v ^ ,t 


>° Ap v O, *•*'•' '%» "'**■■ >°* A 0-' 

A V ^ ^ ^ ^ V ^ 9 ^ ^ ^,T-- { v^ * V * O 

^ ^ S 3 c^ * *>. ** _ _ » a ^^ajC )-A V . ^ ** ^ 








' * o. 



V 

° ^ & 

* 

• C,^ o 

* ^5 „ 



iq 


y<% 


^ * -V- - * ,V. V • 

<V> '.•«* -0 V vS 

ONo %A A 

<* ^ /-0 e * C> 

% <cs\M\ft*\* •?. v * &?/}/??-> ~* O 

© /rv^s^Wl: v* *7> > •6 *. Jx\]l//A^> * 

***Cr f 


* .y 

< v o. A 

r CT t * w, ‘ , -9 ^o c 

V * JfwT^is* o 4*^ 

<s* W 

^ -wC^° j- 0 ^, ’fgMSF* 

C\ ^ A ■ Kj . +^//ir& * ts." _ * 

•> ° " ° >, **#'»•' o,^ 1 0 *’*’ D ;’o 0 , 0’ 

'■v q . ty * t • o^ ^ ,y s • * ^ v v 

/y * V>^a,V .OftAfeTf- ^ ** 






^ C »»S 

*> yp 



' ^k>. ^ ^ *> v , 




' ^ A*^’ ► 

: W * 

* a A% 
x% v. *„ 

^ * 

^ V Q V ,M», , 0 

N sv\ , 0 *'&f{! 7 ?? 2 ? v> 

o/rT^m^vr y&WzP’J* ^ 



cfi ‘^js o 

V ^ ^ V* 


r ^o 

* ^VlWVk^ * _ ^ v> * <z 'sV/l\)<&? ^ 

°o % ^o* o° ^ V^‘f»* *> c> * 

a?' fc *I*£* *> s*^r% *«v n^ ff v 

ti *lPm» w ^ 

iV^ -%e^. a v .^fP. aVa : 

• /v v ^ *r^Mr* ,A %• *Wv “v ^ % 



k ,/ j». o 1 

% *• 

•q, ^o.; * a ^ 

v l °.^ . 4 ^ ©®JL°♦, 

^ ^ % 

o V c 



9 "o .r^ # c 

T ; «&/ ' 

3 sP T C^ ** k y,< 

,' 0 ^ %. 'AWK' 

I • * 0 A° ^ * * < i * <$*■ 



v' fe *®; 

*, w 

° 

*» Ay <^. * 

.V *o, 



> '**« aS> o, 

V 0 * • t "» ^ 




□ □□233Dfi c ID3 































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































